


What Not to do When a Criminal Knocks at your Door

by CosmoKid



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Artist Steve Rogers, Criminal Bucky Barnes, M/M, Out of Character Sharon, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Somewhat Criminal Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-19 01:46:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9411974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CosmoKid/pseuds/CosmoKid
Summary: Steve's neighbour was weird; he yelled in aggressive Russian after midnight, bulk bought bleach, carried a throwing knife around and showed up at his door step covered in blood chased by angry gunmen. But hey, at least he was cute.----Currently on hiatus until further notice----





	1. What Not to do When a Criminal Knocks on Your Door

**Author's Note:**

> tbh i have no idea what this is
> 
>  
> 
> Okay so I've put this fic on hiatus because tbh I don't really know where to go with it. When I first started, I had a vague idea and I was just going with it honestly. I've definitely changed as a writer since then and I probably will revisit this at some point but time is something I do not have rn doing four a levels, an EPQ and dealing with family and mental health stuff.   
> When I do have time and if I have inspiration and a better plan for this fic, I will definitely revisit it and probably start posting chapters again.

Steve’s neighbour was weird, just plain weird. 

Not weird in the way that Steve was weird; staying in six days a week and only leaving his apartment for post and shopping if he didn’t have the money for delivery. Not even weird in the way that Steve was weird with his restricted diet and medicinal drug taking.

But weird as in he came home past midnight most nights (Steve almost always noticed considering his sleep schedule really couldn’t be called a schedule at this point) and he had a lot of aggressive phone calls. Half the time he couldn’t even figure out what language the guy was yelling in. He’d decided that it was probably Russian or maybe Ukrainian. He also yelled in some language similar to Latin sometimes. It wasn’t Spanish since Steve was semi-fluent in it, but he didn’t know if it was French, Italian or some other language. He yelled in English sometimes, it was very aggressive English.

And then there was the time he bulked bought disinfectant and bleach and by bulk, he meant over three hundred bottles. Steve didn’t want to judge, but he wasn’t sure that anyone was that obsessed with being clean. He wanted to think the best, but he’d watched quite a few documentaries on Jeffrey Dahmer during his rebellious teenage phase and that really didn’t help.

He also dropped a shockingly sharp knife when Steve bumped into him while getting his post once. He’d jokingly said he was off to a run-down culinary school for his first lesson. Thinking back on it, Steve had only realised that he hadn’t actually given a reason for bringing a weapon to collect his post. It was pretty concerning.

Maybe he was just really bad at opening letters.

He would have added the obsession with AC/DC and, particularly, playing it at full volume at one in the morning, to the list, but he was friends/acquaintances with Tony Stark and he played it all the time. Highway to Hell was an iconic song and all, but playing it on the way to a wedding or funeral was a bit tone deaf. It was still a bit odd, but comparing Tony Stark normalised it.

His name was pretty odd too. Steve had done a project on James Buchanan in school at one point and all he could really remember was that the guy hadn’t been able to stop a civil war and that his class practically had a breakdown when they found out the guy was rumoured to be gay. It was an oddly obscure president to name your kid after and every time Steve heard someone call the guy ‘Bucky’, the only thing he could think is ‘buckaroo’ and ended up snorting out loud. At that point, Steve realised that he really needed to get out more. He didn’t, but he thought about it.

Steve still had no idea what the guy actually did, but from the one time Steve had seen his apartment, he had to have a pretty decent job. Steve had popped over to borrow some sugar since he was being forced to bake cakes for Sam’s bake sale and had a heart attack when he saw the luxurious apartment the guy lived in. Steve’s apartment was probably worth less than he was and he had frequent visitors from rats that he couldn’t afford to exterminate. Bucky had a rug that was probably worth more than Steve’s entire apartment and the dude had the fanciest kitchen Steve had ever been in. Maybe he actually did go to culinary school. 

It still didn’t explain having a throwing knife in his jacket pocket, though.

His only clues to Bucky’s job were that he lived in luxury, worked really odd hours and maybe included throwing knives. So it could be weird athlete or criminal or abstract chef.

Instead of worrying about it, he ignored his suspicions and just got on with life. And by that, he meant basing a lot of illustrations off of the guy and mumbling about how cute he was when he was drunk. Steve had a thing for brunettes apparently considering his track record. His longest relationship had been with Peggy who was practically the female version of Bucky with the exception of her not being a potential serial killer. 

At least, he didn’t think she was a serial killer, the murder rates in the UK hadn’t risen significantly since she moved back. Plus, America had about five times more serial killers than the UK which wasn’t really sitting well for his odd neighbour. It really did seem that the guy was some kind of killer. 

Not to mention the time a courier had left one of Bucky’s parcels with Steve while the guy was ‘at work’ and it had turned out to be a box of reinforced steel chains. Steve hadn’t even opened it, it came open because apparently, his neighbour didn’t like closed parcels very much. The reasoning behind having a chain delivered was a joking response about having ‘delicate interests in the bedroom’ which prompted Steve to nearly choke on either laughter or shock. He wasn’t quite sure which. 

His neighbour never gave a straight answer and was very good at dodging. Maybe, he dodged his rent. That would explain the angry people knocking on his door at all times of the day. As infuriating as it was to never get a straight answer (even when Steve asked him what the capital of Australia was when he needed to prove a point to Sam; Steve had never been more annoyed by the phrase “I don’t know Stevie, what do you think it is?”), it was even worse when he finally did.

Granted that might have a little bit to do with the fact that Bucky was standing at his door, panting and covered in blood. 

“What the f- Jesus, what the fucking flying shit fuck?” It wasn’t the most articulate Steve had ever been, but his neighbour was covered in blood and standing at his door with that stupid smirk on his face.

Part of him hoped it wasn’t his blood since if that was all his blood, he would probably die of blood loss soon. But at least if it was Bucky’s blood, he knew he hadn’t potentially murdered someone. Steve didn’t know which option was worse.

“Oh good, you’re in,” Bucky breathed, pushing his way past Steve and into his apartment, “You have a first aid kit?” This was far too casual considering Bucky was literally covered in blood.

“Um y-yeah, under the sink in the kitchen,” Steve stuttered unsure as to why he was helping the guy who had literally barged into his appointment covered in blood. He decided to blame it on blood being a nightmare to get out of carpet; that made him sound a little bit less crazy. Heartless maybe, but not crazy.

“Thanks, doll,” Bucky smirked, his eyes twinkling which was a startling contrast from the whole freaking covered in blood thing, “I’d shut the door right now, by the way,” he called only slightly threateningly once he’d turned around, heading towards Steve’s minuscule kitchen. Right, Steve still hadn’t shut the door. Granted, he was frozen in the doorway, still trying to process the whole situation. 

Ignoring the idea that Steve was about to become a victim of a serial killer, he slowly shut the door, locking it cautiously. He couldn’t help but wonder if he was about to get stabbed through his door. Was that possible? It was in horror movies.

Bullets went through doors anyway, so he could still die. Fuck.

“So is there any reason you’re covered in blood and need a first aid kit because if that’s all your blood you’re gonna need a lot more than a first aid kit and why are you in my apartment? How did you even know I own a first aid kit? I’m like piss broke and you’re clearly some kind of billionaire so you have to have a first aid kit in that apartment. And why did I need to close the door like I get that I need to close the door because you know safety, but why were you so adamant about it being now, well then, you know what I mean? What the fuck is going on?” 

He hadn’t meant to ask that many questions, but the moment the first few words stumbled out, he couldn’t stop the flood of questions and worries and panic and Bucky hadn’t stopped him so he just continued. Bucky was just leaning on the kitchen counter, looking awfully amused for a guy covered in blood. 

He leant forward slightly, his smirk somehow growing, “It’s not all my blood; hardly any of it’s my blood. The bullet lodged in the wound is preventing a lot of the bleeding so I’m not gonna bleed out on your carpet or anything,” Bucky paused, raising his eyebrows slightly as Steve stumbled for any words that weren’t ‘fuck’ or anything similar, “I wasn’t completely certain you’d have a first aid kit, I don’t have cameras in your apartment or anything, I’m not that kind of criminal. I just assumed you’d be responsible enough to have a first aid kit or at least dental floss and scissors which I could also use if I had to. I do, in fact, have a first aid kit in my apartment, but if I went in there, I’d probably have seven bullets shot my way and that’s just not fun. And the bullets are also why I thought it’d be best to shut your door, any questions?” 

He was still smirking. If that smirk got any bigger, it would be on a different eretheal plane. The nerve of the guy was ridiculous. He literally just revealed that he was a criminal, at least seven people wanted to shoot him and that he’d brought them to Steve’s apartment and asked if he had any questions.

Fuck, his neighbour had just admitted to being a criminal. His mind was racing at about a million miles per hour, trying to process it all. Fuck summed it up pretty well.

“Questions?” Steve repeated dumbfounded by it all, “Why the fuck were you shot? Who the fuck shot you? Are there actual gunmen in your apartment? And why the fuck did you bring all this shit into my apartment?” He managed to cut down the questions that time at least, not the swearing, though.

“So you know the phrase, don’t shoot the messenger?” Steve could only nod in response, where was this going? “Turns out that’s still true if you shoot them with a tranquillizer,” Bucky grinned, cocking his head slightly as Steve raised his eyebrows, trying to stop his eyes from being as big as bullet holes. 

Oh, the irony.

“Basically, messenger guy is meant to bring fifteen thousand in exchange for drugs, messenger guy brings thirteen thousand and the deal is broken. Messenger is tranquillized so we have leverage to get the other two thousand. Messenger’s friends don’t like that and start shooting. They start shooting so we start shooting and then someone dies and I have a bullet in my arm and nowhere else to go. They’re expecting me to go back to my apartment, have me pegged as some sentimental guy and definitely won’t expect me to be in your apartment.” 

Well, at least he was giving straight answers. 

“Okay,” Steve breathed, blinking a few times to try and regain his composure which was unlikely, but he could try, “So…uh… what happens now?” he decided to ask, trying to calm the beating of his heart. His heart sounded like an actual bass drum, pounding over and over again in his ears. He was on the edge of a panic attack, he could feel it. Or maybe an asthma attack. His brain wasn’t working well enough to distinguish it. 

It would really help him if he could be sure he wasn’t about to get killed either by his neighbour or the people trying to kill his neighbour.

Shit, there were people trying to _kill_ his neighbour. 

“Well, either they ransack my apartment, leave and I go back home and probably stay out of your hair for a while,” Bucky explained, his nose twitching slightly as he paused, “Or they decide to interrogate you for a while and I hide and you cover for me and I definitely stay out of your hair for a while.” Bucky’s smile was a lot tighter as he spoke, clearly feeling a little guilty for dragging Steve into his criminal life.

Well, that was good, Steve felt a little bit better about not really wanting Bucky to stay out of his hair. 

Steve was definitely screwed, definitely. Of course, he’s attracted to his ridiculously hot neighbour who happens to be a criminal. Bucky was a criminal, his neighbour was a criminal.

Fuck.

“Yeah no, won’t happen, literally could not happen, nope nope nope.” He wasn’t very articulate tonight, but he felt he got his message across quite well.

“Come on Stevie, do it for me.” Steve didn’t quite know what Bucky thought pleading would do in this moment, especially asking him to do it for me. One, who the fuck would Steve be doing it for if not Bucky and two, he’d potentially just put Steve’s life at risk, you could reasonably assume he wasn’t feeling like granting any favours at that moment no matter how many times Bucky tried to ‘Stevie’ him.

At least he finally found what he was looking for in the first aid kit since he was finally making his way out from behind the counter. Maybe he’d be gone soon and Steve could just pretend that his neighbour wasn’t a criminal who just got shot and brought gunmen to his home.

No matter how many times he said it, he’d still not get over it. His neighbour was a _criminal_ and there were potential _gunmen_ in the building.

“And how can you be sure I won’t just throw you out of my apartment right now? There are windows and doors I could use.” It wasn’t much of a threat, but it made sense grammatically this time. Probably not logically, though.

“Because you’re too nice to throw a gunshot victim out on their own,” Bucky smirked again, slowly closing the distance between the two of them which really wasn’t helping Steve’s anxiety and stress levels, “And I’m at least twice your size, you’ve got no chance.” That was somehow more threatening than Steve’s actual threat and Bucky phrased it as a joke.

It probably wasn’t a joke considering Bucky was a freaking criminal who shot people and probably did drug exchanges and shit. _Fuck._

“So you have a bathroom, right?” Bucky questioned, looking mockingly at Steve as he stopped a few metres away, “Blood isn’t fun to get out of carpets,” he added as if it was a great explanation that excused the whole intruding in an apartment and bringing at least seven armed gunmen to it. 

Anyway, Steve knew just how hard it was to get blood out of carpets. Did that make him sound like a serial killer? Maybe. He just had a lot of nosebleeds.

Steve decided not to mention that he still hadn’t actually said he was letting Bucky hide out from killers in his apartment and just motioned in the general area, muttering something about all apartments having bathrooms.

“You’re a real doll Stevie,” Bucky remarked, winking at Steve hopefully jokingly. As hot as Bucky was and as great as it would be to boast Bucky as his cute boyfriend to Sharon, the whole criminal thing was slightly off-putting. Only a little bit. 

Steve just sighed, turning away and leaving his _criminal_ neighbour to probably remove a bullet from wherever in his bathroom.  
That sentence should not exist. 

He had a weird inkling to make dinner for his guest, deciding that he’d spent too much time watching the Bake Off. Even his Mother wouldn’t make dinner for a criminal. She might suggest that he tell Bucky that crime isn’t the answer, but he also knew that Sam would probably kill him if he decided to try that. 

Trying to ignore the slight gasps coming from his bathroom (he hoped they came from Bucky removing the bullet and not something else), he flopped down onto his couch, finally breaking away from his frozen stance. He decided that watching more Bake Off couldn’t really hurt at this point and grabbed his sketchbook pretending that he was going to do some of his actual work.

If he tried to sketch anything right now, it would definitely be too deep and dark to fit into any kids book, even the weird Satanic ones he got every once in a while.

Still, sketching normally helped to calm him down and gosh he needed that right now. He flipped to a random page and began sketching at a leisurely pace, letting his imagination guide his hand. He liked zoning out when he was drawing, it allowed him some peace. It was almost hypnotising sometimes, he didn’t even know what he was drawing. Other times his full concentration was on every single pencil stroke knowing he had to get it correct. It was always the eyes, always. Eyes were so beautiful and he felt himself getting lost in them frequently, but he just couldn’t get them right. He could always get the first one right, but he couldn’t replicate it. Sam liked to joke that you couldn’t replicate perfection.

He jumped at the sound of the door, his pencil scratching a line across his sketch. His nose screwed up in anger at the sight of it, he’d started drawing Bucky again and it even had a dark line running across his features. Heaving a heavy sigh, he flipped the cover over and fixed his pencil behind his ear, heading towards the door. 

Hopefully, there wouldn’t be someone covered in blood on the other side this time. Once in an evening was enough, hell, once in a lifetime was enough. He had a feeling tonight wasn’t going to be the last time it happened. Maybe Bucky had other neighbours he could go to next time he got shot, but he probably didn’t. Unless the go to neighbour was out tonight and that’s why Bucky decided to irritate Steve with his shooting and stuff.

Swinging the door open he found himself face to face with the barrel of a gun and an angry looking guy, even better. 

“If you’re here to rob something, you’ve come to the wrong apartment,” Steve announced, too tired to even think of an appropriate response. 

“I’m not here to rob you,” the guy literally growled, his grip tightening on his gun which was still pointed towards Steve, “Where’s your neighbour?” 

Okay, so he was definitely here for Bucky, of course, he was. Maybe it was time for Steve to move. 

“Oh, are you from the neighbour watch? I hadn’t heard that it was mandatory for them to carry guns nowadays.” If there was one thing Steve was, it was a sarcastic little shit. 

“New policy,” gun guy grunted, lowering his gun a little so it was pointed at Steve’s chest instead of his face which was a little comforting, “Have you seen your neighbour?” 

At least he knew the guy wasn’t that intelligent considering most neighbour watches didn’t go around at eleven o’clock at night with a gun. He really wasn’t that convincing either.

“You’re going to have a bit more specific, this is an apartment block so I have about fifty neighbours,” he pointed out dryly, trying to keep from looking at the gun currently pointed at _his chest_. That would not be good for his blood pressure.

“Barnes.”

Definitely here for Bucky then. 

Steve didn’t have to pretend that he understood that, though, “The Barns family? Oh, I love the Barns, Mr Barns just makes the best cookies. I think they’re on vacation, though?” He didn’t even know if there were a Barns family in the apartment block, but he doubted this guy was smart enough to check.

“Not the Barns family,” the dude growled again, probably forgetting that he was a person and not a dog, “The guy who lives opposite you.” Well at least he knows where Bucky lives, that was a start.

“Oh him, um I don’t really talk to him much, I don’t think… uh, don’t think I’ve seen him for… uh, a few days.” He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, trying to avoid eye contact without drawing attention to him doing that. Steve was never a good outright liar, he could do little lies and white lies, but he couldn’t outright lie to someone’s face.

“You sure?” Someone needed to tell this guy that he was not a dog and hence, did not need to growl. 

Steve took a deep breath before replying, “Actually, I don’t think I’ve seen him since the fire alarm incident last month.” He was speaking far too quickly, but maybe the guy would attribute it to the whole gun thing. “Can I go back to my work now? I need to get it done ASAP,” he added, hoping the guy would just leave now without questions.

Gun guy strained his neck as if he couldn’t look over Steve by looking straight, “Doesn’t look like much work, looks like you’re drawing,” he commented, raising his eyebrows at Steve.

“Yeah, I’m an illustrator you jackass, can I go back to it now?” On second thought, calling the guy who’s pointing a gun at you ‘jackass’ might not be a good idea, but Steve had never been one to do things logically or back down from insulting someone.

“Oh… yeah,” he grunted, finally moving the gun so it was no longer pointing at Steve which did wonders for his anxiety. He assumed the guy would just leave, but apparently he had to have a final say, “If you see him, tell us.” 

Steve elected not to tell the guy that he didn’t know who ‘us’ was, that he had no way of contacting the guy and that the real neighbour watch would be pretty confused if he just told them that he’d seen Bucky. At least he left finally.

He pushed the door closed, locking it immediately before leaning against his door to catch his breath. What the fuck was this night? It felt like some fucked up dream. 

“Knew you could do it, Stevie,” Bucky called all of a sudden, strolling out of the bathroom shirtless and with that irritating smirk on his face again, “And you even called Brock Rumlow a jackass!” 

“He is a jackass,” Steve insisted weakly, trying not to get distracted by Bucky being shirtless. The guy had no idea about neighbour etiquette. It really wasn’t polite to show up at your neighbour’s door covered in blood after being shot, steal their first aid kit, force said neighbour to talk a gunman away and then walk around your neighbour’s apartment shirtless. 

“I can’t argue with you there, but most people wouldn’t call the third best marksman on the East Coast a jackass, especially when he has a gun,” Bucky remarked, pausing his casual stroll at Steve’s sofa, “Got any shirts I can borrow?” 

“As you pointed out earlier, you are at least twice my size, of course, I’d have a shirt that fits you!” Steve exclaimed, the sarcasm dripping from his voice, “And why the hell would I know that he’s the third best whatever considering his shoe size is probably higher than his IQ?” Steve asked crossly, hardening his stare at Bucky who just grinned brighter. Steve was actually angrier that Bucky looked cute when he was had his stupid smirk on his stupidly attractive face.

“I knew there was a reason I like you, Stevie,” Bucky commented, cocking his head slightly and winking at Steve who really couldn’t be bothered to deal with his shit, “And doesn’t your boyfriend leave his shirts at your apartment?” Bucky spat out the word 'boyfriend' a little, but Steve was too distracted by the word, himself, to pay much attention to it.

“Boyfriend? What boyfriend?” Steve didn’t know if it was a compliment that Bucky thought he could be anything other than a lonely illustrator who’s cried into more slices of pizza in the last year than he’s had sex.

“The dude you baked cupcakes for? And the one who’s constantly fussing over you? Come on, no one bakes cakes just for their friends.” Good to know that Bucky was on top of the cake baking rules. 

“Sam?” Steve questioned, finally processing who it was that Bucky thought he was dating, “Dude, he’s straight and engaged and only fusses over me when I have an asthma attack. Plus, the cakes were for his charity bake sale, but normal people do, in fact, bake cakes for their friends.” Steve crossed his arms stubbornly.

“Are you insinuating that I’m not normal Stevie?” He wasn’t sure when Bucky had decided that he was allowed to call him Stevie and he didn’t know if he liked it or not. It rolled off of his tongue well, but then the guy had also been shot in the last twenty-four hours.

“You told me you weren’t that kind of criminal twenty minutes ago and used a basic first aid kit to remove a bullet from your arm and stitched it up with I don’t know what, you’re clearly the average citizen,” Steve pointed out, rolling his eyes at Bucky who just smirked bigger. Did the guy have any other facial expressions?

“Dental floss is a great substitute for medical stitches,” Bucky explained, leaning back on Steve’s sofa which would probably break if too much pressure was put on it, “So Sam doesn’t leave his shirts here?”

“Why would Sam leave his shirts here?” Steve mumbled in confusion before speaking up, “Why can’t you just walk to your apartment shirtless? I doubt Mrs Hanson will be outside her apartment this time of night.” 

“Considering Brock Rumlow was sent here, I doubt my apartment would be safe to go into tonight so I was planning on staying at a friend’s house tonight.” Bucky sounded slightly unsure for once, that was a nice change. Or not nice. Unsure criminal didn’t sound fun. 

“Do they know about your gun fights or do you have a hobby of bringing gunmen to unsuspecting people’s doorsteps?” Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to ask that, but Steve didn’t particularly care.

“I’d be quite worried if she didn’t know about them considering she was at the one tonight,” Bucky smirked once again, sounding completely sure of himself again. Oh, fun.

“And the gunmen aren’t going to be at her place?” Steve had expected Bucky to be intelligent since he was a criminal and it seems like a job you need to be intelligent to do, but then not everything made sense. 

“Might be,” Bucky mused, genuinely smiling at Steve, “See, this is why I like you, Stevie,” he stated, pushing off of the sofa. 

“I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.” Maybe he wouldn’t get shot because of Bucky or he would get shot because of Bucky. It would probably be better if Steve moved to the other side of the country and just avoid Bucky for the rest of his life. If only he had the money.

Bucky just winked in response, aggravating Steve just a little bit more. His stress levels really weren’t doing so well.

“So what are you gonna do now?” Steve asked awkwardly, feeling a bit bad about Bucky not having anywhere else to go. Not that bad because Bucky did bring the third best marksman to his doorstep.

“I don’t know, my nearest safe is house is a little bit away out of the city so I might head out there.” Bucky frowned slightly, his nose twitching as he thought.

Steve couldn’t believe he was actually going to do this, “You could crash on the couch if you want,” he offered awkwardly, already hearing Sam ranting about his idiocy in his head, “Just don’t kill anyone,” he added awkwardly.

“You serious?” Bucky was looking incredulously at him, probably wondering how stupid Steve actually was. 

“You’ve already removed a bullet in my bathroom, you might as well crash on the couch as well.” Steve shrugged trying to ignore how stupid he was being right then. “I’m gonna go sleep, feel free to actually use dental floss for the right reasons.”

Steve turned around, heading straight to his bedroom trying not to look back, both physically and figuratively at how stupid his last decision was. 

“Hey, Steve.” Steve paused, looking back at Bucky who was biting his lip. “Just don’t like phone the police or anything, I don’t really want to shoot you.”


	2. What Not to do When a Criminal Pays Your Student Loans

“Hey Rogers, I thought you said only you could pay off your student loans!” Steve looked up from the plans Sam was muttering about to see Tony prancing into the coffee shop with his eyebrows furrowed. Oh God, why was he upset today?

“I swear to God, tell me you didn’t pay off my student loans!” Steve groaned, placing his face in his hands which apparently moved Sam’s sheets which elicited a growl from Sam. Someone needed his coffee and to stop panicking about his fundraiser. It was going to be completely fine, Sam’s fundraisers were always great.

“I didn’t!” Tony offered, throwing his hands up while sliding into the booth opposite them, “But your neighbor did!” Tony was way too upset about this. Steve guessed he had great friends if one of them was really upset about not getting to pay his students loans for him because someone else did.

“Pardon? Who did what?” Steve exclaimed in shock, staring at Tony in disbelief. Who the fuck paid his students loans off? Who the fuck, apart from Tony, had that money?

“You don’t know?” Tony questioned, raising his eyebrows at him, “James Barnes, who lives at 174 FYI, paid off all of your student loans at around eight am this morning,” Tony explained, glaring pointedly at Steve as if it was his fault that his neighbor apparently decided to pay off his student loans. 

“Wait, how the fuck did you know that?” It was a legitimate question. 

“Oh, I checked your bank statement to make sure you had enough to pay for any emergency hospital bills.” Well, at least the sentiment was there. “So why is your neighbor paying off your student loans?” That was also a legitimate question.

“You’re looking at me like I know?” Steve deadpanned at Tony before realising that it’s just going to confuse his friends more even if Sam was too distracted by his fundraiser plans to pay attention, “Look, something happened last night that I can’t explain right now, but it probably caused it,” Steve tried to explain it away realising it really wasn’t helping. 

His mind was flashing back to the note that Bucky had left in his apartment; it hadn’t been much, just a thank you and an IOU basically. But Steve could tell that he’d rewrote it, the notebook he’d used for it had numerous pages ripped out and Steve could see the indents of the previous writing. He couldn’t help but wonder what Bucky had written.

Tony’s eyes had widened and he was grinning from ear to ear, “You finally fucked your hot neighbor!” he exclaimed way too loudly, “Or did he fuck you? I don’t know what you’re into,” he added a little quieter, completely traumatizing Steve at that point. 

Steve began to protest, but Sam tiredly interrupted him, “Isn’t he too young to be your sugar daddy?” How was this even a conversation they were having?

“Oh yeah! That’s true!” Tony jumped in before Steve could explain, “How does that dynamic work?” he questioned curiously, way too invested into this idea. 

“I didn’t fuck him,” Steve groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration Some days he really hated his friends, that day was one of those days.

“So he fucked you!” Tony literally jumped in his seat. Why was he so excited about this?

“No! No fucking took place!” How was this something he was having to explain? “Can we talk about this later? It’s not something I can talk about now,” he pleaded, looking desperately at his friends. Maybe they would take pity on him. 

“Okay,” Sam confirmed talking over Tony’s questions, “Stark, I need you to go over these plans since I don’t trust my caffeine-filled brain right now.” Sam stared pointedly at Tony until he grumbled an agreement and started scanning the documents as if he was some kind of computer.

Steve sighed, leaning back in his seat and turning to stare out of his window. He didn’t know how he was going to explain this away. He was stuck in between telling them the truth and not telling anyone as Bucky had told him to do. There hadn’t been anything that he hadn’t told Sam since they were in Sophomore year and he finally came out to Sam. He couldn’t imagine keeping something from Sam after that. He didn’t think he actually could.

He couldn’t keep something from Tony if he tried, but that was more to do with Tony’s freaky technology, AIs and just generally being a genius. Tony had picked up on all of Steve’s tells the first time they met and he still hadn’t learned how to lie since. Lying last night had been a miracle.

He knew he could trust his friends to keep his secret, even if Tony had the world’s biggest mouth. But he didn’t know if they would keep Bucky’s secret. It wasn’t like the secret was something small like not knowing how to make toast or something stupid, the guy was a _criminal._ Plus Sam would probably rant at him for seven years if he found out. 

“Rogers!” Steve snapped back into focus with Sam’s hand waving in his face. They were both looking at him like he was insane. 

“Yeah?” he asked weakly, trying to stop worrying about it. His friends would probably be fine with it… well, not fine. But they’d go with it after a little bit of yelling.

“What do you think of ham and cheese fillings for the sandwiches?” Sam questioned him very forcefully, he was taking this very seriously. Steve had never expected to be interrogated about sandwiches. 

“Good?” he asked in response, looking questioningly at his friend, “What type of cheese are you using?” Thank god for him being mildly lactose intolerant, it always reminded him to try and cater for everyone when he was helping Sam organize his fundraisers. His most recent was for his abuse survivors group and Steve really wanted to be useful and helpful for it. 

“Oh that’s a good point,” Sam mumbled, grabbing at one of his many sheets of paper, “Do you think we could have a selection of cheeses so everyone can eat the sandwiches?” he asked, turning his attention to Tony who just stared back at him plainly.

“Sure, but I literally know nothing about cheese,” Tony stated, gesturing towards Steve who only knew about cheese because he was lactose intolerant, “Steve, what cheese do you eat buddy?” 

“I can normally eat cheddar, parmesan, and swiss? Sometimes I can eat mozzarella, cream cheese and ricotta if the lactose level is lower than five grams. Most spreads are okay if they’re processed and pre-digested and goat’s cheese is always a shout even if it tastes like goat,” Steve explained, taking a sip of his coffee, letting the cheese conversation distract him from what happened last night.

“Okay, okay,” Sam muttered from next to him, scribbling down all the information about cheese, “What about ham? Is that okay?” he asked sporadically, his eyes looking even more panicked. 

“I haven’t heard of many people not being able to eat ham unless they’re vegetarian or vegans,” Steve replied, awkwardly patting his friend to try and help him calm down. 

“Oh shit, I didn’t even think about vegan or vegetarian options!” Steve groaned, hitting himself in the face. Steve moved to stop him, but Sam swatted him away with a frown. Someone really needed to drink his coffee.

“Is that why you have an entire piece of paper labeled vegan and vegetarian options?” Tony questioned dryly, waving the paper in Sam’s face obnoxiously. Well, the sentiment was there even if the delivery was a bit harsh.

“Sam, stop panicking. The fundraiser is gonna be kickass and you’re going to raise a lot of money for it,” Steve smiled softly, pulling his friend into a side hug, a little bit less awkwardly. Sam seemed grateful since he held on for dear life, pressing his face into Steve’s tiny frame.

“I know, I know, I just want it to be good for them, you know? It’s not just a fundraiser, it’s an activity in self-confidence. I want them to know that people do care for them and that they can do this and they can go out and socialize and that people are willing to make changes to routines to accommodate for them. I can’t do that if it’s not perfect!” Sam exclaimed, his voice muffled by Steve’s shirt. He sighed as he leaned back in his chair, removing his face from Steve’s shirt, still frowning.

“And it will be Sam. You’ve put so much thought into this and all of us are going be there to help out. You’re doing a great thing here,” he smiled gently, subtly gesturing for Tony to join in.

“Yeah, it’ll all be fine Wilson.” Well, good to know Tony was even more awkward than Steve. “Let’s take a break from the planning and talk about Steve and his sugar daddy some more,” Tony suggested all of a sudden, his smile so bright, Steve could be blinded by it.

“Why don’t we not?” Steve responded plainly, glaring at Tony. If he was going to tell them, _if_ , he couldn’t exactly do it in the middle of Starbucks. 

“Why not? What could possibly have happened that you can’t talk about it if you guys didn’t fuck? You definitely fucked. Does he have some weird kinks or something? He had chains delivered once, didn’t he?” Tony continued to press, looking at Steve expectantly who refused to break eye contact. He was not going to get tricked into talking about it.

“How many times do I have to say it? We didn’t fuck,” Steve stated, trying to keep his voice level and failing to keep the panic out of his voice, “I can’t talk about it here-“ he gestured around him to all the people around them, “-and besides, you probably wouldn’t even believe me,” he mumbled. It wasn’t like was lying, it was a pretty unbelievable story.

“Steven Grant Rogers, if I can believe that you fucked your hot neighbor, I can believe anything.” He wasn’t sure how to feel about Tony’s comment. It wasn’t much of a compliment.

“Shut it,” Sam laughed, waving off Tony who had an infuriating smirk on his face, “Steve, you have a pretty unbelievable life, I doubt there’s anything that could happen that we couldn’t believe at this point,” Sam explained, turning to look expectantly at Steve too. Oh great, peer pressure.

“I’ll tell you guys later,” he muttered, hating his friends for a moment, “At Stark’s weekly games night,” he added, trying to keep his friends from prying further. He really didn’t need to go over last night’s activities right now considering he still hadn’t processed them himself. Plus, he still needed to go figure out why Bucky had decided to pay off his student loans and how the dude had gotten into his bank account. That sounded like a joyful conversation.

•••

It was the second time in twenty-four hours where Steve had to ask himself why he was about to do what he was about to do; it was also the second time that he knew Sam was probably going to kill him when he found out. 

He shook his head, trying to will away the thoughts of doubt. Taking a deep breath, he raised his hand to knock on Bucky’s door, asking himself why he was willingly going to talk to his _criminal_ neighbor. He could feel his heart begin to race, heartbeats pounding in his ear. Still, he knocked.

The door swung open to show a very confused and very shirtless Bucky, “Steve?” 

Steve couldn’t blame him for being confused, it was pretty stupid to show up at the door of someone you’d just learned was a criminal. But then it was also pretty stupid to spend thousands of pounds on your neighbor’s student loans without even asking them so they were equal. 

He just sighed, “Why and how did you pay my student loans off?” he demanded, keeping a stony expression. Bucky looked even more confused now. 

“You know, most people wouldn’t question it and just quietly say thanks,” he commented, opening his door a bit, but keeping his focus on Steve who just stared back expectantly.

“I haven’t spent three years saying no to the offer from one of my friends just for the guy who lives opposite me who I hardly know to just pay them without even consulting me jackass,” Steve exclaimed, letting the frustration seep into his voice, “Why and how did you pay them?” he demanded again, frowning.

“Oh, it’s a pride thing,” Bucky remarked dryly, raising his eyebrows at Steve, “Why do you think I paid them? Have you completely forgotten about what happened last night? I didn’t have you pegged as stupid Stevie.” Again with the Stevie thing, he was getting pretty infuriated by it at this point. 

“Of course I haven’t forgotten! I don’t think I’ll ever fucking forget about it, but why does that mean you pay off thousands of my debt?” Steve insisted, his face hardening. He clenched his fists in frustration.

“Jesus Christ Stevie,” Bucky muttered, rolling his eyes while physically grabbing Steve by the arm and dragging him inside his apartment, ignoring Steve’s protests, “You really want to have this conversation where Mrs. Hanson could hear it?” he questioned, silencing Steve who realised that Bucky was making a lot of sense. It was still pretty irritating being pushed against the door when Bucky shut it.

“Dude,” Steve murmured, rubbing the back of his head. He pushed himself off of the door slightly, taking a deep breath to try and stop the onset of a possible asthma or panic attack.

“I paid your student loans off because I showed up at your doorstep covered in blood with a bullet in my arm and you let me in and let me remove the bullet in your bathroom and stitch it up with your dental floss and then you covered for me against the third best marksman on the East Coast and let me crash on your couch despite me putting you in danger, questions?” Bucky explained, raising his eyebrows at Steve. It felt like a challenge.

“I didn’t let you in, you just walked in and then reminded me that I couldn’t physically kick you out. And as I said last night, I didn’t fucking know who the guy was!” Steve protested, not realizing that he had stepped forward in frustration. He wasn’t letting this go, he was really angry about this. Bucky could have at least asked his permission. He wouldn’t have granted it, but still.

“Brock Rumlow is credited with forty-seven confirmed kills and up to two hundred unconfirmed kills. You literally saved my life,” Bucky stated, stepping forward himself. He looked both confused and slightly frustrated with Steve who still wouldn’t just give it up.

“That doesn’t mean you pay off my student loans!” Steve snapped, his nostrils flaring.

“Are you serious? Why are you angry about this?” Bucky questioned, taking a deep breath probably to calm himself down.

“Because you went into my bank account and paid off my debts without asking me. No one should fucking pay those off, but me.” 

“And when were you going to pay those off, huh? You’d still be paying them off in twenty years Steve!”

“Maybe I would, but I’d be the one paying them off!”

“And why should you? Student loans are completely stupid and you’re literally paying for having an education.” 

“And I’m the one who had the education so I should be the one paying it!”

“I can’t actually believe you’re angry about this Steve!”

“Oh, I’m sorry for being angry about you going into my bank account and messing around in it without even fucking asking me!”

Bucky faltered for a second, licking his lips. The tension in the room had risen and neither had noticed how close they’d became. They were inches away from each other. Steve wasn’t quite sure what the environment was.

Bucky took a deep breath, walking backwards a bit with a sigh, “Look, I know it was pretty dickish of me to do it without your permission and you probably don’t get the severity of the situation last night because you have no idea who I was running from, but you saved my life last night multiple times. I looked at the bullet I got shot with this morning and if I hadn’t used your first aid kit to remove it when I did, the bullet would have released poison into my system and I’d be dead. You also managed to convince Brock Rumlow to leave even when he had a gun on you the entire time and you also stopped me from heading out into a city where I was probably going to die. So yeah, I paid off your student loans and I’m not gonna apologize for it. I’m sorry it upset you, but I’m not sorry that I did it.”

Steve tried to formulate a response, struggling to process what Bucky had said. He was still irritated by it, but the reality of the night before was finally crashing on him. Fuck, that actually happened. 

“Just use your extra money to have an exterminator or something, you don’t deserve to share your apartment with rats,” Bucky tried to smile, probably trying to console him. He wasn’t very good at it.

“Okay,” Steve murmured, his mind racing with too many thoughts. He couldn’t bring himself to be anything but shocked, let alone angry. He was just panicking. His neighbor was actually a criminal. He actually nearly died last night. Bucky had literally put his life in danger last night. _Fuck._

•••

Steve spent the rest of the day at his easel, throwing himself completely into his work. It felt almost as if he was pouring his emotions into each stroke. He’d refused to stop until he was finished, spending every millisecond looking his piece over to make sure it was perfect. It was simultaneously the worst and best thing, his irritation getting worse and worse as he continued to mess up the eyes, but his panic and fear calming until he felt completely tranquil. It was odd.

The piece had been commissioned a few weeks back and he’d been staring the deadline in the face for a while. He’d been avoiding it, being too worried about messing up the portrait. They had always been his worst. 

It was looking a lot better than he’d expected so that had to count for something. 

He had no idea how long he’d been painting for, being too busy blocking the world to check the time. He was never aware of anything but the colors when he was painting. But the world wouldn’t wait for him to catch up as was shown by the knock on his door and Sam’s expectant voice. A quick glance at his clock told him that he’d completely forgotten that he had to go to games night with his friends. 

He cursed softly, packing his art supplies as quickly as he can and fixing the paintbrush behind his ear without even thinking. Calling out for Sam to wait for a second, he headed towards the door, trying to avoid any of the paint splatters he’d left on the floor. He’d forgotten how messy his apartment was so the obstacle course of random objects he was faced with wasn’t very fun.

He hesitantly opened the door, hoping not to be faced with a rant and hoping that Sam was alone and didn’t bring any more of their friends or acquaintances that Stark always invited.

“Dude,” was the first thing Sam said the minute he saw Steve and into the apartment followed by a dignified, “Games night?” He looked expectantly at Steve who just shrugged awkwardly.

“Yeah, I was… uh, painting,” he offered apologetically, hoping Sam would understand. He normally understood.

“I can see that,” Sam commented, raising his eyebrows, “I’ve been sent to collect you before they start Mario Kart,” he explained. Of course, it would be Mario Kart, that game was Steve’s nemesis. He wasn’t even bad at it, he just had freakishly good friends

“Let me grab a coat before you tell me I’ll catch hypothermia,” Steve muttered, turning around to head further into his minuscule apartment to hope to find one of his coats. He had no idea where he’d left them.

“Is that the one you’ve been avoiding doing?” Sam questioned as Steve scanned his ‘storage area’ (it was actually just the area under the window where he threw all his stuff). He glanced back to see Sam staring at the painting, cursing again when he saw how weird the eyes looked. He could never get the eyes right. He sighed and made some sort of noise in agreement, finally seeing where he left his coat.

“I never get why you do that, the painting is amazing,” Sam remarked, still staring at the painting. Steve never understood Sam’s interest in his work, the painting wasn’t even that good.

“The eyes are all messed up,” he mumbled, picking up his coat before turning around and heading over to meet Sam. Maybe he could forget about his shitty painting if he realized how shitty he was at Mario Kart than his friends. It normally worked. 

“Yeah, I don’t see where, but I’ll take your word for it,” Sam replied dryly, giving Steve one of his ‘shut the fuck up, you’re good at painting’ looks. It was Sam’s favorite facial expression. 

“And you’re not a painter,” Steve reminded him, “Which car did Stark make you take this time?” Changing the topic was always a good idea when his friends tried to convince him that his paintings were better than they were.

Sam replied with some fancy car name Steve had never heard of, something to do with a spider. He also gave Steve a quick review of the car, probably forgetting that Steve couldn’t even begin to think about buying a car that expensive. The car was worth more than his apartment.

“By the way, Stark invited Sharon,” Sam added nervously as Steve locked his apartment door and they headed into the corridor, completely ruining any fun the evening could have. Sharon ruined everything for Steve. Not only had she broke up with him because he was bisexual, she’d also continued to make comments about it to this day.

Steve never understood why Stark continued to invite her to places, no one had really liked her when she was dating Steve, let alone when she tagged along awkwardly. Maybe he found it funny when she tried to compete with him for who had the best job. 

“Why does he keep inviting her?” Steve groaned, angrily pushing his keys into his pocket. He’d rather spend the night redoing the eyes of the painting than with Sharon and her prissy little criticisms.

“Because she keeps trying to convince us that her job as a police officer is better than Tony’s as a whatever the fuck Tony’s job even counts as and it’s kinda funny,” Sam explained, confirming Steve’s suspicion, “It’s also a bit rude to exclude her just because you guys broke up.” That was bullshit, they excluded her when they were dating.

“It’s also a bit rude to break up with your boyfriend because his sexuality apparently means he’s more likely to be promiscuous and cheat on you, but I guess we’re not talking about that,” Steve pointed out, the frustration seeping into his voice.

“Okay, that was kinda shitty-” 

“Very fucking shitty.”

“Okay, that was very fucking shitty of her to do, but you have to be the bigger person and that shit,” Sam replied, correcting himself at Steve’s interruption.

“Can’t we just all block her number and stop answering her texts?” Steve mumbled as they headed into the elevator, Sam insisting that it was because he was tired from his run, not because Steve had asthma and Sam was constantly worrying about him incessantly.

“That’s not how it works Steve,” Sam stated dryly, “Anyway, are you finally going to explain why your neighbor paid your students loans off?” Sam asked as he pressed the ground button on the elevator. Steve was glad that they had the elevator to themselves, he couldn’t handle another journey with Mrs. Hanson asking him where his girlfriend had disappeared too. Plus, he knew Bucky took the elevator most nights and he didn’t want to deal with that.

“I don’t know,” Steve grumbled, “If the end of the night is just me, you and Stark, I’ll explain it then,” he decided, knowing he could at least trust those two. He’d have better luck trusting Bucky than Sharon and Bucky was a criminal. He still wasn’t over that. 

And speak of the devil, the elevator door opened on the ground floor to Bucky waiting for it. Of course, that was just his luck. Why wouldn’t his criminal neighbor would be waiting for the elevator he was riding in? And especially after he was having a conversation about him.

“Heya Stevie.” Bucky had that stupid smirk on his face again, waving at him. He tried his hardest not to gulp or react physically. That would not be good, mostly because Sam would probably think they were fucking again. Oh, who was he kidding? He always thought they were fucking. 

“Hi, Bucky.” That wasn’t too awkward and didn’t sound misleading at all. He glanced at Sam who was watching the exchange with amusement, his eyes lighting up at the sight of awkward Steve. Luckily for him, Sam waited until they were a little away before saying anything.

“And you claim you’re not fucking him?” Why did everyone think they were fucking? They weren’t fucking. 

“We’re _not_ fucking!” Steve insisted, suddenly glad that it was late in the evening meaning there were no kids around to hear the conversation. He didn’t want to deal with more of the parents glaring at him, he’d had enough of that with Mr. Phillips glaring at him for not being straight and putting out ‘gay vibes’ to try and corrupt his kids. That was a weird day.

“Do you want to be fucking?” Sam asked as they arrived at Stark’s car which did look really nice even if Steve knew nothing about cars. 

“No, I don’t want to be fucking him.” This was a weird conversation that he really didn’t want to be a part of, but it didn’t seem like Sam was going to give it up anytime soon. Sighing, he slid into the car, appreciating the padded seating. At least he had some comfort in this horribly uncomfortable conversation.

“Are you sure?” Steve really didn’t want to be a part of this conversation.

“I’m sure,” Steve insisted again, glaring ahead, “Why do you keep asking?” It was a valid question that Sam would probably misinterpret.

“Have you seen the way the guy looks at you?” Sam questioned, looking quizzically at Steve who just sighed and shook his head, “The dude wants to fuck you.” Why were they still having this conversation?

“No, he definitely doesn’t,” Steve protested, too tired to even try and formulate an argument that Sam would actually listen to. Sometimes he hated his friends.

The rest of the journey followed in a similar fashion, arguing about whether or not Steve’s hot neighbor wanted to fuck him. It even continued up into Tony’s penthouse apartment. To be fair to Sam, he wasn’t aware of the whole criminal thing yet, but it was still ridiculously awkward for Steve. He’d never insisted on talking to Sam about his sex life so why should Sam question his lack of one?

“Can we just stop this conversation now? I can’t handle Sharon joining in on the conversation,” Steve pleaded just before the elevator door opened. He would die of humiliation if Sam insisted on continuing it after that.

“Okay, but we’re not done,” Sam agreed, looking pointedly at Steve who just cursed for the millionth time that night. He was so done with his friends and the evening hadn’t even begun. The doors opened to reveal Tony, Darcy, Sharon, Maria, and Peter all waiting for them. Okay, that was good, he could just spend the entire night talking about the latest episode of Supergirl with Darcy and just avoid the science conversations, avoid his jealousy of Sam and Maria’s successful, happy relationship and avoid Sharon. 

It also meant that he wouldn’t lose at Mario Kart because Darcy was worse than him. Okay, the evening was looking up.

“Late again?” His optimism crashed the minute he heard Sharon’s smug voice. “You were never good at being reliable.” Why did she insist on making constant digs at him? It was just cruel at this point.

“He was actually having a conference with a new customer and it’s rude to text during a meeting with such a high profile customer,” Sam jumped in to defend him, glaring at Sharon who just smiled sweetly as if she hadn’t just been a complete bitch to him. Steve hated her.

“I didn’t come for business talk, I came for Mario Kart!” Darcy exclaimed, probably sensing the tension in the room and trying to keep it down. She pushed her glasses up her nose and looked expectantly at everyone in the room. Luckily for her and Steve and basically everyone in the room, Peter joined in to agree which forced Tony to agree and the games started. Steve did a little better than he did, beating Sharon in Mario Kart and in Trivial Pursuit which made him feel like a literal god and she even left early after Darcy beat her in Othello. And he got to talk about Supergirl for a good half an hour with Darcy while their other friends played poker. The night was actually pretty cool until Maria, Peter, and Darcy left and he realized that now he had to actually explain himself to his friends. 

Shit.

They were on him like a hawk immediately. Darcy hadn’t even been out of the apartment for one second before they were asking. Well, Sam was, Tony was just sipping his beer like that Kermit meme. Steve really spent too much time on the internet.

He was also being super dramatic since they really weren’t that demanding, he was just panicking.

“So are we gonna talk about the sugar daddy thing?” Tony drawled, taking another sip of his beer. He lifted his can like he was making a toast, leaning back in his chair. 

“He’s not my sugar daddy!” Steve insisted for what should have been the last time for that day, but he had a feeling it wouldn’t be. The amount of time he’d said it that week was ludicrous.

“Steven, you’re small and cute and you have a lot of debt, there’s no shame in having a sugar daddy.” Was he really going to get a lecture from Tony Stark about how it was alright for him to have a sugar daddy? What was his life?

“I don’t have a sugar daddy!” He knew it wouldn’t be the last time.

“Then why did he pay off your student loans and why did he flirt with you in the elevator?” Sam jumped in, effectively ruining him with the second part of his question. Damn it Sam.

“Hold up!” Tony yelled, sitting up and spilling his beer, “He flirted with you!” He seemed more worried about Bucky flirting with Steve than the fact he spilled his beer on his super expensive rug. It was probably sheepskin or something like that.

“He flirts with everyone,” Steve groaned, putting his face in his hands in frustration, “And again, you guys aren’t going to believe me so you might as well continue thinking whatever you’re thinking,” he mumbled tiredly, leaning back into his chair in defeat. All he wanted to do was sleep.

“What could have possibly happened that we wouldn’t believe?” Tony argued, standing up clumsily. He wasn’t quite drunk, just a bit tipsy. That still wasn’t a good thing.

“I doubt there’s anything that we’d actually not believe,” Sam added carefully, glancing between the two of them. There wasn’t any tension in the air, but Sam was probably waiting for them to start arguing. The two of them either butted heads or talked together for hours, there was no in between.

“I don’t know about that,” Steve muttered, gritting his teeth. He couldn’t really get frustrated with them for not understanding since they didn’t actually know what happened. He still got a little angry, though.

“Come on Steve!” Tony demanded, kicking over Maria’s left over beer onto his hypothetically-sheepskin rug. Steve hoped it was an accident since that rug probably cost more than Steve’s life and ruining it would really mean Tony was a rich asshole.

“Would you believe me if I told you that the dude showed up on my doorstep covered in blood after being shot in the arm and removed the bullet in my bath and stitched it up with my dental floss and I ended up having to convince some mad gunman that Bucky wasn’t in my apartment and then I let him crash on the couch so he paid off my student loans somehow in return? Because that’s what happened.” Well, it was better out than in… maybe.

“Pardon?”

“What?”

Well, at least Sam was polite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sharon is super out of character here, i actually really like her, but she's out of character here
> 
>  
> 
> thanks for reading :)


	3. What Not to do When You End Up Locked Out of Your Apartment

Letting out the most awkward laugh of his entire life hadn’t really been his plan, but that was the only reaction he could muster after looking at how horrified his friends looked. Maybe he could play it off as a joke and just pretend to be really tired or something ridiculous.

“It’s a joke… joke. It’s a joke guys,” he mumbled awkwardly, trying to put some humor in his voice. He wasn’t very good at this lying thing when it came to his friends. 

“Great joke Steven,” Tony stated dryly, pressing his lips together. It was a bit better than the horrified expression.

Sam narrowed his eyes at Steve, “So what actually happened?” He sounded suspicious, shit. Sam was a psychologist who could read Steve like a book. Shit, this would take a lot of convincing. 

He fidgeted in his seat, trying desperately to think of something, “He commissioned me!” he finally blurted out, swallowing nervously, “I didn’t want to tell you guys because I know I’m going to redo it like seventy times and I didn’t want you to do that thing where you force me not to redo it, and I didn’t expect him to pay that much or to just pay off my student loans as payment, but we cleared it up today and I’m doing a few more pieces for him so the cost levels out,” he explained hurriedly, the words spilling out. 

“Oh.” Sam deflated, leaning back and steepling his fingers, “That makes sense, but you don’t have to worry about that Steve. If you want us to stop just tell us, we will,” he smiled gently at Steve who smiled back quickly, tensing up again. Hopefully, Sam would chalk it up to him being anxious and not him lying his ass off.

Steve decided not to mention that he’d told them to stop at least fifty times and it had never stopped them before. He was a good friend, sometimes.

“So you’re not fucking?” Good to know Tony had his priorities sorted. Steve shook his head, swallowing again. Maybe he could divert the conversation from this to love lives or something. 

“Why not?” Tony demanded, leaning forward and stabbing his finger towards Steve. They were going to have _that_ conversation again. At least it was better than the student loans conversation. 

“Because he’s straight,” Steve pointed out, raising his eyebrows at Tony, challenging him to argue with that.

“Straight men don’t stare at their male neighbor’s ass when they’re walking away from them.” Why was Sam so observant and why did he have to use logic all the time? Why were his friends so invested in his non-existent love life? Steve didn’t know how to respond, there was nothing he could really say to discredit Sam’s argument since it was probably true and Steve wasn’t a straight man so he couldn’t pretend to know if it was an uncommon thing to do.

“We’ve all seen the way he looks at you Steve, it’s like unreciprocated eye sex!” Tony exclaimed, shaking his head and glaring at Steve. 

“I wouldn’t say it was unreciprocated,” Sam mumbled smugly, sipping his beer as if he hadn’t just given Tony more ammunition than anyone had ever.

“Can you guys stop trying to dissect my non-existent sex life please?” Steve pleaded quickly before Tony could try and elaborate on Sam’s point, “I’m not drunk enough for it and I don’t ever want to be drunk enough for it.”

“Spoilsport,” Tony muttered but he let the topic rest. Thank fucking god for that, Steve couldn’t take any more discussion about the possibility of him and Bucky fucking especially after what happened the night before. There was only so much of discomfort, fear and new experiences that he could take. 

It also didn’t help that the whole criminal thing hadn’t really done anything to lessen his attraction for Bucky. It wasn’t much, not even a mild crush, but it was far too much.

He’d never had much luck in the department of love, his first and longest relationship had ended when they both realised that Peggy had to go back to Britain at some point, his next boyfriend had turned out to be a complete dick and most of his relationships followed the same pattern thereafter, especially when he dated Sharon who happened to be Peggy’s cousin. He should have listened to her when she said Sharon wasn’t girlfriend material for anyone not rich or straight. He’d had one good date with a redhead who went by Dot until she got arrested for possession and turned out to be addicted to heroin. 

As he said, he’d never had much luck with love. He doubted dating a criminal would change that.

“And I think that’s a good time to end games night,” Sam announced after chugging the rest of his beer, “You still need a lift, right?” Steve nodded, glancing at Tony’s window anxiously, his heart still racing from the whole lying thing. It was too dark outside to walk so it looked like he was getting a lift home hopefully with Sam since Tony would probably continue to assault him with questions about his sex life. He swore his friends talked about it more than it was actually active.

“Am I allowed to use my own car this time?” Sam turned to Tony, who was clicking away on his phone completely immersed by it. Sam shook his head, smiling amusedly before leaning over to flick Tony on the head. An unorthodox method of getting his attention.

“I’ll drive you guys if you want, I need to get to the airport,” Tony responded finally, clicking his phone shut and shoving it in his pocket. It looked like Tony was going to a last minute conference or maybe just a surprise vacation. It was his kind of thing.

“Are any of us under the limit?” Steve acknowledged, gesturing at the plethora of cans scattered on the floor. It was a lot of alcohol, even for seven people with varying levels of hatred for each other. Well, varying levels of hatred for Sharon and the bitter hatred Sharon felt towards him. 

“Probably not,” Tony commented, his lips pressed together tightly, “But I designed the beer not to be detected by breathalyzers so...” Tony trailed off with a smirk, lifting up his empty beer can in some kind of toast. Every single day Tony seemed to have invented something new which normally violated like ten laws.

“And how illegal is that?” Sam questioned, looking quizzically at Tony who just shrugged. Steve needed to stop hanging around with criminals.

“It’s not like we’re mass producing it, it’s just for personal acquaintances who can drink everyone else under the table, but will get arrested for drunk driving even though they’re basically sober,” Tony explained, shifting in his seat. Something about that response sounded like a lie or an avoidance of truth and Sam would probably be the one to figure it out since Steve was as observant as a dead rock.

“Personal acquaintance, huh?” Sam asked, not looking impressed, “So you’re not mass producing it, but one of your less than legal business partners is, under a different name and paying you under the table?” Sometimes Steve wondered how Sam wasn’t the most sought after psychologist in the city considering how well he could read them and it’s not like Tony was the easiest to read. The guy had tricked at least five psychologists and seven psychiatrists that he wasn’t an alcoholic when they were in college. 

“Not mass producing,” Tony corrected with a grin, “The contract states that she can only sell it to people she knows can handle more than enough alcohol and trust me, you can trust Natalie Rushman.” Hopefully, Tony hadn’t been seduced by this Natalie, but he probably had been. He and Pepper had only started dating after Pepper convinced him to sign some contract by flirting with him at some highbrow event.

“You’re not exactly trustworthy material,” Sam remarked, pressing his lips together in a slight frown, “Where do you know this Natalie Rushman from?” That was a legitimate question.

“We slept together once in high school.” Well, that explained how she’d convinced Tony to work with him if she couldn’t be trusted. Steve hoped she could. “She stands behind Alexander Pierce and plays him like a puppet basically. The business is in his name, but anyone worth anything knows the idiot has no power,” Tony added, smirking. All Steve knew of Alexander Pierce was his involvement in an animal abuse scandal he’d joined the protest for a few years back. The protesters had forced him to abandon the domestic chores part of his business. Steve was very proud to have been part of it.

Steve wasn’t completely happy about his friend working with such a crooked guy, but he did have a grasp on reality. He got that in the world of business, you had to work with the wrong guys sometimes if you wanted to get anywhere. He also knew Tony wasn’t as motivated by his morals as Steve was. He understood it, but he didn’t have to like it.

“You know what? We never had this conversation, Steve and I never heard any of this if you get arrested,” Sam finally responded, gesturing wildly between the two of them, “And I’m driving,” he declared, fishing in his pocket in order to hold his keys up triumphantly. Steve really wasn’t drunk enough for another argument about who was driving. Fortunately for Steve, apparently Tony wasn’t drunk enough either and just agreed to ride in Sam’s ‘crappy car’ (which was actually a pretty nice car when choosing between a Maserati and Ferrari wasn’t like choosing between cornflakes and shredded wheat) to the airport. 

They, not including Steve, unanimously agreed that he would ride in the back like a child since he was the smallest of them. It wasn’t too bad since he could just sit back and plan how he was going to convince them he was painting stuff for Bucky when he wasn’t and was able to ignore their arguments about car brands. Apparently, Tony was considering buying a new car and was set on a Porsche which Sam didn’t agree with. Steve really couldn’t be bothered to listen in on it. As long as the car drove well, it was good for Steve.  
Anyway, it wasn’t like Steve was going to be able to afford a car anytime soon. He was a starving artist.

Well, actually, now that he didn’t have his debts to pay, he might actually be able to save up for one. It would still take him a while anyway. Plus it’s not like he went anywhere ever so buying a car would be a waste of money. He left his apartment like two times a week. 

“Hey Steve, we’re here.” Steve jumped when Sam turned around to tell him. He’d completely forgotten they were actually on a journey, he was too busy thinking about Bucky again. He had a feeling that this would be a reoccurring theme of his daydreams.

“Oh,” Steve mumbled, scrambling to get out of the car. He said an awkward goodbye to his friend, shifting his weight from foot to foot until Sam drove off. He was surprised Sam didn’t insist on watching Steve get inside the building like he normally did; his friends seemed to believe that Steve would get mugged if they left him alone at night for more than a second.

Then again Sam had to write a ten-page essay on the case of Kitty Genovese for his final project in psychology so Steve couldn’t blame him. 

Chuckling softly to himself, he headed into the building and into the elevator. The lobby was eerily quiet at this time of night which made sense, but it still unnerved him. Most times he’d wave at the receptionist, Wanda, and there would always be a little noise. He normally came back around the same time as the school rush and was surrounded by way too many kids. He didn’t mind children, he was actually pretty good with kids, but he didn’t have the patience to have thirty children running around him. There was a reason he was an artist and not an art teacher. 

The calm music in the elevator helped his nerves, he’d forgotten just how daunting silence could be. He was normally surrounded by chatter or even just the scratch of a pencil in his sketchpad. The only noise he had was the sound of his heart beating in his ears because he was far too scared of silence. He sighed, leaning against the wall of the elevator, he still hadn’t processed what had happened recently. He was waiting for it all to crash on him, he felt like he’d took it too easily. 

He jumped at the ding, trying to calm himself down in the second before the doors opened. He was on edge, his heart racing a little too fast and so, he was very glad when there was no one waiting for it. His brain was too irrational to remember that it was past midnight so there wouldn’t be many people around.

Taking a deep breath, he set off towards his apartment. He was hesitant to walk past Bucky’s door, slightly scared that he might get shot through the door or something equally ridiculous. His panic only increased when he realized that his keys weren’t in his pocket. Shit, did he leave his keys at Tony’s?

He immediately reached for his phone before remembering that Tony would be on his way to the airport and would probably be late for his flight if he went back to his apartment, and Pepper was currently in the Philippines at some conference so no one could get into his apartment. _Shit._ There was no one at the front desk either, it was too late for that. He couldn’t expect Mrs. Hanson to welcome him in at this time at night and every fiber in his body told him not to even go near Bucky’s door. He was completely locked out of his apartment.

Sinking down to sit against his door, he checked the time again to see how long he’d have to wait before Wanda would get here and he could get a new key. He had about four hours to wait and didn’t even have enough money to get a coffee from the vending machine. Well, that sucked.

“Hey, Stevie?” Steve jumped again, turning to look up at Bucky who was leaning on his open door with his hair up in a messy bun, his head tilted in confusion as he stared at Steve who must have looked a sight, slightly drunk and tiredly leaning against his apartment door. “Any reason that you’re sitting outside your apartment rather than in it?” That was a very good and very valid question.

“I left my keys at a friend’s house and he happens to be too busy on an airplane to let me in to get them,” he explained bitterly.

“How very selfish of him,” Bucky drawled, his smirk looking very amused. Steve swore the guy had no other facial expressions, all he ever did was smirk. “Do you really have no way in? Can you not pick the lock?” 

“Do you think I’d be here if I could pick locks?” Steve mumbled, glaring lightly at Bucky who looked equal parts shocked and amused by the fact that Steve didn’t know how to pick locks.

“Can you actually not pick locks?” he asked, bursting into laughter when Steve tiredly shook his head. He hoped Bucky was aware of how condescending he sounded right now and how ridiculous it was that he thought it was amusing that Steve couldn’t pick locks. Maybe it was a criminal thing, it was probably a criminal thing.

“Sorry they didn’t teach law breaking at art school,” he grumbled, fully glaring at Bucky now who just winked and headed towards Steve’s door, pulling a grip out of his bun. He motioned for Steve to move, slightly pushing Steve away after he was apparently taking too long. He knelt down beside him and started picking the lock himself. Steve’s breath hitched, feeling Bucky’s short breaths on his neck. He was far too close for comfort. 

He shuffled over a little, propping himself up more. He really didn’t need this worrying attraction to go anywhere but down.

“Sorted,” Bucky grinned, pushing Steve’s door open after standing up. He held his hand out for Steve to grab which Steve nearly rejected, but realized it would be a bad idea to be rude to a criminal. And he was pretty lucky that Bucky decided to help. He let Bucky pull him up, ignoring the tingle he felt when their hands touched. 

“Thanks,” Steve smiled softly, fighting the urge to bite his lip, feeling far too awkward. Bucky just smirked more, his eyes twinkling.

“It’s nothing, couldn’t have someone so pretty waiting out until morning,” he commented, not quite sounding sarcastic enough for the comment not to have ulterior motives, “Someone might get an idea,” he added quickly after looking at Steve’s panicked expression. He moved backward towards his apartment, his face unsure. 

“People always have ideas,” Steve replied awkwardly, diverting his gaze to appreciate the carpet. It wasn’t a nice carpet, but it was better to stare at than the criminal he had a very bad crush on. 

“That they do, but giving them evidence is the worst thing to do.” Steve wasn’t sure if he wasn’t being given actual advice here or if Bucky didn’t know what else to say. “Trust me, how do you think I’ve avoided the police for so long?” Well then.

“And here I thought you bribed and seduced them,” Steve smiled lightly, looking up to meet Bucky’s eyes whose face broke out into a smirk again. The tension between them broke down, the tone of the conversation going from ‘hey, we were awkwardly close and both thought about kissing the other, or at least I hope we both did because I did’ to ‘hey, let’s joke about you being a criminal because why the fuck not?’

“Well,” Bucky paused to raise his eyebrows at Steve, “I do that too, but it’s a lot easier to just avoid them. There’s only so much sex one can have,” he grinned genuinely. It was one of the first times Steve had ever seen him smile rather than smirk. It was nice, he had a nice smile.

And Steve was in too deep, way too deep.

“Please tell me you haven’t fucked on an interrogation table,” Steve pleaded jokingly, shaking his head to try to get rid of the image in his head that was far too detailed. Again, he was in far too deep.

“Nearly, she decided to handcuff me instead,” Bucky assured him, smiling sentimentally. Was he actually sentimental about nearly fucking someone on an interrogation table? Must have been a pretty lady.

“Decided to actually do her job,” Steve acknowledged, smirking. He hadn’t even realized how much his heartbeat had calmed down, but he was feeling completely calm.

“She was the smart one,” Bucky tapped his head probably trying to symbolize intelligence, “Her partner let me go after I proved I could blow him while handcuffed to the table.” That certainly wasn’t professional.

“That sounds,” Steve scrambled for a word, “Acrobatic? Like circus level acrobatics.” That described his point well, maybe. He was contemplating too much about a conversation about blowing police officers to get unarrested.

“You should see my friend Clint, he was actually raised in the circus,” Bucky chuckled, looking like he was reminiscing about something Steve really didn’t need to know about, “I doubt there’s any position he could be in that he couldn’t give a killer blowjob.” That was possibly the oddest sentence Steve had ever heard in his entire life and he had no idea how to respond.

The word ‘killer’ was also unnerving.

“I’m hoping you guys haven’t tried,” was the response he finally decided on. Even with Tony, he’d never had a conversation about the legitimacy of blowjobs.

“Not yet,” Bucky responded, smirking at Steve who was blushing bright red and was looking very awkward, “Clint’s not my type,” he added, absent-mindedly playing with the few strands of his hair that had fallen out of the bun. Steve had to admit, Bucky really rocked the ‘I just got out of bed’ look. 

“Oh,” Steve asked, biting his lip, “What is your type? Unassuming police officers?” He knew he added the last part because he was certain that without it, he would be shamefully flirting. He was letting the logical part of his brain taking over… kind of.

“Depends how pretty they are,” Bucky shrugged, straightening up afterward. His eyes hadn’t left Steve’s for far too long. They were entering flirtatious territory which should be great. Bucky was cute, clearly financially stable and apparently very good at blowjobs, but he also happened to be a criminal who knew how to remove a bullet from his arm using a basic first aid kit. It was a bit of a red flag for potential relationships.

“Sounds like an awfully small dating range.” Steve literally had no idea what he was saying, his heart had begun racing again and he could feel his breath quickening.

“Tell me about it,” Bucky complained jokingly, “I was thinking of broadening it.” Was he flirting there or was Steve overthinking it? He didn’t know if he wanted to know the answer.

He reminded himself internally to actually breathe before responding, “Oh? What are you thinking of including?” He was treading in dangerous waters.

“Creativity is always pretty attractive or maybe just super rich,” Bucky pondered, cocking his head slightly. Steve still couldn’t tell if he was flirting or not, the first part applied to him, but definitely not the second part. He wasn’t sure where they were at.

“Will you boys fuck already or go to sleep? It’s two in the morning!” They both startled at Mrs. Hanson’s shout, jumping apart. Steve hadn’t realized that he’d gotten closer to Bucky again. That was the second time that day.

“Well then,” Bucky remarked, glancing awkwardly at Steve, “I guess we should be polite and go to sleep.” Steve didn’t know how to feel about Bucky choosing sleep over fucking him. On one hand, he didn’t fuck a criminal, but on the other, apparently he was less attractive than sleep. He already knew that, but still, it wasn’t nice to be reminded about it.

“Sounds like a good idea, I still think her walking stick has a secret sword in it honestly.” Why did he say that? Why was Steve so awkward? Damn it. 

Bucky chuckled softly before the two of them bid even more awkward goodbyes and headed into their respective apartments after diverted glances to the ugly carpet and wallpaper and anywhere else basically. 

The moment he was inside, he took a deep breath, leaning against his door. He could hear his heart beating in his ears and his breath was far too quick. This was all just becoming too much for him. Fuck, he had a growing crush on his criminal neighbor. Fuck.


	4. What Not to do When You Catch Scarlet Fever

The week that followed was weird for Steve, he actually spent more time outside of his apartment than he did in bed. He wasn’t used to it. Most days, he didn’t actually leave his apartment, spending the day alternating between his easel, his bed, and the kitchen. But that week, he went out with Sam for coffee four times, played video games for six hours straight with Peter and Darcy on two separate occasions, had a sleepover with Sam where Sam finally realised he was actually getting married, went out for dinner with Pepper, Sam and Tony separately, and even went to a baseball game with Maria. He didn’t have a clue what he was watching, but he enjoyed it. 

It was a weird week. He didn’t mind it too much even if he didn’t get many drawings done and even if he was glad when the week ended and he got to spend a day by himself since Sam and Maria were flying out to talk to Maria’s estranged Mother to try and reconcile their relationship in Utah, Tony and Pepper were off at a weeklong business conference in the Bahamas, Darcy had to work in her new job and Peter’s college exams were kicking off so he was studying. 

So he had a nice week to himself where he could draw as much as he wanted. 

Of course, he didn’t expect to come down with some form of fever when none of his friends could help him. He didn’t even know what he was ill with and he definitely couldn’t get himself to the doctors. Not that he wanted to, normally doctors told him he had to have someone stay with him to make sure he wouldn't die and none of his friends were actually free to do it. 

He’d resigned to just staying home and recovering. He hadn’t died yet from any illness so he assumed he’d be fine. 

Granted, assuming he was fine didn’t stop the vomiting, or the sore throat, or the loss of appetite, or the headache, or the high temperature. It sucked, being ill sucked. He felt like he was currently sat in a furnace with mild hypothermia (which wasn’t fun, as he knew from experience) which was on the world’s shakiest boat. The phrase ‘death warmed up’ was pretty cliché, but it fit pretty well. 

At least the loss of appetite meant he had nothing left in his stomach to throw up.  
He let out a cynical laugh, dissolving into a coughing fit that he was certain was going to kill him. He hated being ill. Not seeing blood on his hand made him quite happy, he knew he wasn’t too ill then.

That was probably a bad sign, smiling because you didn't cough up blood felt like a very low standard. 

Hearing his phone ring worried him more than anything, not wanting his friends to cancel their plans because he hit a minor obstacle. Sam and Maria especially didn’t need his problems, but it was probably Sam who was phoning because it always was. Sam was a good friend, Steve just didn’t want to push his problems onto him. 

They didn’t need it then, Maria finally talking to her estranged Mother after over a decade of ignoring each other. Steve didn’t know too much about it and he wasn’t about to pry, but he knew that Maria’s Mom had been distant while raising her, never really paying attention to her and eventually left her alone for too long while she was at a business holiday when Maria was eleven and she ended up in foster care. It only took a few months before Maria was adopted by Nick Fury who was possibly the most terrifying man Steve had ever met. And now she was finally attempting to talk after years of no communication. Maria had tried, but she’d never gotten any response until she sent a recent letter about the wedding. 

It was Sam that had been the catalyst like he was for almost everything with their friends. Sometimes it felt like Sam was some kind of Gandalf of psychology, always saying the right thing and always being there to care for them. Like that moment where he was calling Steve which was probably the sixth time in three days. He wished his friends weren’t that aware of how often Steve got ill, but they were and they always worried about him. 

“Hey man!” Sam’s voice was bright and cheery, sounding like he was having a great time. That seemed like a good sign.

“Hey,” Steve croaked, trying to get his voice back to a normal tone. He had to convince Sam that he wasn’t ill so Sam didn’t try and cut the trip short to rush back to his friend.

“Well hello Christopher Walken,” Sam muttered amusedly, “Tell me you’re not ill.” Well, honesty wasn’t always one of Steve’s virtues. He'd like to pretend it was and everyone always assumed it was, but no. 

“Just tired.” He wasn’t technically lying, he definitely was tired. “All-nighter to complete a last minute commission.” And there was the lie. 

“Man, you need to stop doing those Steve!” Sam lectured, speaking way too loudly with Steve’s pounding headache which Sam wasn’t aware of so he couldn’t really blame him. Steve should probably just go to the Doctors, but he was determined to get through it without needing medicine. He could normally.

“How’s Utah?” Steve managed to get his voice to sound a little less ill, adding a yawn to pretend he wasn’t lying through his teeth. At least Sam couldn’t see his face this time, maybe he’d be able to fake it.

“Not so good,” Sam mumbled, sounding concerned, “Better than we expected, but still not so good. Like Maria and her Mom are talking, but her Mom isn’t exactly fun to be around. Like the lady is so full of herself and she gets angry when Maria talks about her success and she keeps trying to compete with her. It’s just weird and she’s that kind of parent who triggers anxiety and helps to lead to depression in teenagers. I’ve never been happier to know that Nick is her parent, not this lady.”

“He’s Nick now, is he?” Steve asked giggling and trying to cough silently after that, “Do you think they’ll be okay for the wedding or is this whole thing a bad idea?” 

“I don’t know, I hope that they do, but I don’t want them to be if you know what I mean. Like I want Maria to have a good relationship with her Mom because it’s important and she deserves it, but man, I hate that woman. And she hates me! She’s the type who hates psychologists because apparently, mental health isn’t actually a thing.”

Ah, that explained why Sam sounded so pissed off.

“She sounds like a joy.” Steve would never not be a sarcastic little shit. “How many more days have you got left?” What Steve really meant was ‘how long do I have to recover until you get here and yell at me?’ 

“Five more as long as everything goes to plan and Maria doesn’t kill her Mom,” Sam sighed, clearly frustrated from the trip. Steve was about to suggest they cut it short when he heard some form of shouting on Sam’s end and an even louder sigh from Sam. “I should probably go break that up, talk to you later?”

“Yeah,” Steve mumbled absentmindedly before reminding Sam that he’s not going to die (which wasn't strictly true given his current circumstances) while Sam isn’t there and saying goodbye. He also wished Sam good luck with that because when Maria was angry, she was terrifying. 

He let himself retch after putting down the phone, stumbling somewhat blindly towards his sofa and hopefully landing on it when he collapsed. It felt soft so he probably did. He really needed to start his work, he didn’t have time to waste. He might be ill and out of work, but the authors waiting for their books to be published weren’t.

He dragged himself over to his sketchpad, trying to wet his dry mouth. He hated being ill.

He was stuck in between a rock and a hard place; he didn’t want to fall behind on his work, but he doubted he was well enough to make a comprehensive final sketch of anything. He compromised by deciding to map out, planning and maybe attempting his first draft of the four projects he had. The first was a simple kids book about buying a suitable pet and not trying to buy animals from the zoo which wasn’t too difficult for him. He mapped out the general layout of a pet shop with the idea of the kid and slowly planned out the few sketches needed throughout the book. They were pretty easy, just simple animals that he’d learned pretty quickly in his earlier art classes.

Next was a copy of the Hungry Caterpillar called the Thirsty Bumblebee which was just a bunch of cartoon fruit and bees with little room for creativity. He still decided to give the bee a beehive and gave her husband bee a buzz cut. He didn’t quite understand the idea of bees getting married and he was certain it was incorrect since bees were all birthed by the Queen bee and didn’t have parents, but it was a kids book that no one would read really. He wasn’t about to turn down the money just for that, he’d already turned down two projects that month because they were both homophobic and one of them was transphobic which was just a hell no for him.

The third was a young adult novel about a young girl falling in love with a wendigo and her love changing him. Jesus, they were really going with this romance supernatural theme. Wendigos weren’t exactly the prettiest of things and it was difficult to draw something that looked like a pale white spider moose with dental floss legs in a romantic light. He tried for a while before collapsing into a fit of giggles and coughs and deciding to draw the girl first. He would have preferred not to draw a scene between a wendigo and a teenage girl in an alley, but the author was very specific. After an hour or so, he thought it was alright.

He still didn’t get the whole wendigo romance thing. It wasn’t that he wasn’t open to people loving whoever they want, hell he was bi and had spent more hours than he could count trying to explain it to people. Trying to explain it to friends, family, boyfriends and girlfriends like Sharon, his homophobic aunt Janice. He wasn’t about to tell people who to love, but this was a cannibalistic creature that needed to eat humans to stay alive. It wasn’t some poor lovesick guy in a bad situation, it wasn’t human anymore. You had to eat human flesh to even turn into a wendigo. It was pretty infuriating that this was allowed to be published and marketed towards pre-teens, but people screamed slurs at him on the street for holding hands with his boyfriend.

Well, he didn’t have a boyfriend to hold hands with now anyway, but he didn’t want to deal with that ever again.

The fourth was definitely his favorite, note the sarcasm. It was another one of those ‘youngsters use social media too much’ and ‘selfies lead to murders based on insecurity’ stories about how dangerous technology is. The email said to draw a girl taking a mirror selfie and have the mirror be cracked and the reflection show her stabbed with the shards, but with a psychotic smile. They were very specific and very stupid. He still planned it out, trying his hardest not to vomit whatever was left in his stomach back up. 

He was halfway through the first draft when the door knocked and Steve nearly jumped out of his skin, tossing his pencil across the room in surprise. The shock caused yet another coughing fit which was just irritating at this point. He sighed, heaving himself up. His skin was getting irritated now just to top everything off. He _hated_ being ill.

He took a deep breath after steadying himself at the door before carefully opening it, feeling a little light-headed. He had no idea who would be knocking, his first guess would be Darcy since she was basically the only one who had the time, but she hated his apartment. She’d told him numerous times that it was too small, too cramped and too messy despite her apartment being a thousand times messier. 

He pretended not to, but he knew it was because the internet was kinda shitty.

There were many things he’d seen that he hadn’t expected, but his heart still jumped when he saw it was Bucky at his door again. He wasn’t covered in blood this time which was a plus he guessed.

This time, he was dressed in tight leather jeans and a white skin-tight top. His hair was in a messy bun and his top was sticking to his chest with sweat. Any other time, it would have gone straight to his dick because fuck did he look good, but he was too ill to do anything but conclude Bucky must have gone for a run. 

Or was currently on the run from gunmen again. That was always a possibility. 

Fuck, that was a possibility. 

“Hey, Wanda insisted I bring your post up since you haven’t collected it in like half a week apparently.” Ah, shit. He knew he’d forgotten to do something. “Dude, you look like death.” 

“Yeah, I know,” he sighed, dragging his hand on his face tiredly, trying to keep his voice clear and level, “Thanks for bringing my post up,” he mumbled, his voice definitely not as clear as he wanted it to be or as it needed to be. He was feeling very light-headed now, swaying on his feet slightly. 

“Are you okay Stevie?” Bucky looked genuinely concerned about Steve, his hand frozen as if he wanted to touch Steve in some comforting way, but feeling like it was intrusive. Steve’s brain wasn’t clear enough to even think about which side was right.

“Probably,” he mumbled in response, leaning slightly on his door, “I’ve survived worse,” he added when the concern on Bucky’s face didn’t lessen. 

“I don’t know about that Steve, it looks a lot like you have scarlet fever.” Steve didn’t mean to swear as a response, but he did. He hadn't had scarlet fever since he was nine and his doctor had promised that his body would develop immunity to it at age eleven. It was his luck that he’d be part of the minority that didn’t, but that would be trusting Bucky’s diagnosis at face value.

“Excuse me for not trusting your diagnosis, but how the fuck do you know that?” His words came out slurred, but his point probably got across. He hated being ill.

“I raised two sisters with no money for healthcare for quite a few years Stevie, I know what scarlet fever looks like.” Bucky was staring stonily at him, but Steve didn’t know how to respond. Bucky had just told him quite a personal thing there as a throwaway line. Did that mean Bucky trusted him or was he just an oversharer? The blood stain in his carpet suggested the latter, but Steve felt like it wasn’t true.

He felt like Bucky only pretended to be this arrogant guy who couldn't wait to talk about himself. He always felt like Bucky cared more about his friends than himself and would rather hear about them instead of him. 

Maybe he was wrong and was just fantasizing about his criminal neighbor again, trying to make him seem perfect and not a criminal. 

“Okay maybe I have scarlet fever, but I can recover naturally.” It was a weak argument that didn’t work on anyone, but maybe Bucky would be the first to listen.

“How long have you been ill? Four days maybe? Because then you still have three, four, five days left to suffer before it clears up naturally.” Bucky knew a lot more about scarlet fever than most people. “Why don’t you just get antibiotics? Symptoms clear up after twenty-four hours even if you have to take them for a week.” 

“I don’t know,” Steve mumbled, leaning more on the door. The world was starting to spin which was probably a bad sign. He was too busy trying to think of a response to Bucky to take much note, he was ill a lot so he’d learned to ignore most things like it. “Antibiotics mean doctors and doctor visits involves traveling,” he tried to explain, his vision starting to blur. Okay, that was definitely a bad sign. Bucky was saying something to him in response, but Steve was too busy passing out and falling to the floor to pay much attention. At least Bucky’s high-pitched panicked scream was kinda funny.

••• 

He woke up in his apartment, feeling even worse than before. Fuck, why was he on his sofa? Even when he was ill be remembered to sleep in his bed. Groaning, he leaned forward which nearly made him throw up again. He tried to remember what had happened, but all he could remember was reference images of wendigos. 

"Oh hey, you're awake."

He turned his head so fast he thought he might get whiplash. Bucky was standing in his kitchen, leaning on the counter, looking mildly concerned. 

"What the fuck?" Steve whispered, his mind lacking any comprehensive thought. For all he knew, Bucky was going to harvest his kidneys for the black market or maybe sacrifice him to Satan. He hoped not, he didn’t really have time for that. 

"Good question," Bucky smiled at Steve awkwardly, "I came to collect your post and you passed out and wouldn't wake up so I just put you on the sofa."

Oh, well that was nice. 

"Okay, thanks." It was very awkward. It felt too formal, but he didn't know how close he was to Bucky so he just tried to keep his distance sort of. He also didn't want to be that close to him since their first real conversation happened after Bucky showed up covered in blood. 

"Oh and I also kind of asked my friend Bruce who's a doctor to make sure you weren't going to die and he said you have scarlet fever and gave me antibiotics for you to take. It says it's really important for you to take them for at least a week." Bucky added, looking slightly nervous. 

Steve should probably have been angry about Bucky inviting a random stranger in his home, but he was too ill to care. Normally, he’d scold him for it. He hated having people come into his apartment without his permission, mostly because he had a lot of paintings and works in progress that he didn’t want people to see. 

"You didn't need to do that," Steve scowled slightly, "But thanks I guess?" It wasn't the nicest, but at least he said thanks.

"Yeah because waiting for scarlet fever to go away naturally is super fun, Steven," Bucky drawled, fixing Steve with a slightly irritated glare, "He also said it would be good if you had a friend or something keep in close touch to make sure it doesn't develop into anything worse. Apparently, it can do that sometimes." 

"Can't I just not?" Steve asked pleadingly, knowing that all his friends would murder him for not telling him. Sam would also insist on cutting his break short and Tony would probably suggest some weird cure-all-diseases-tablet-thing he was working on and Steve would probably get a weird mutation. 

Bucky just glared at him, raising one eyebrow and lensing forward on the counter. It felt like a challenge. Steve _never_ backed down from a challenge.

"The only friend who wouldn't kill me for not telling lives in the UK," Steve pointed out which changed nothing in Bucky's stance, "Besides, they're all busy." He wasn't lying this time, the only friend he had who wouldn’t be that angry with him was Peggy’s girlfriend, Angie, who was currently performing Wicked on the West End. 

"What about your boyfriend who's not your boyfriend?" Bucky suggested, his back straightening slightly. Steve sighed in frustration; he thought he told Bucky that he wasn’t dating Sam. He’d told at least four people per week. 

"Sam’s in Utah meeting his _fiancé's_ estranged mother," Steve insisted, trying to challenge Bucky which didn't work well when you barely reached five foot and were ill. 

"Okay, so what about the small guy who drives a Maserati?" Steve didn't know if he should be worried that Bucky appeared to be keeping tabs on his friends. 

"He's in the Bahamas with his girlfriend." It sounded like a lie, but it wasn't. Steve just had friends with weird schedules. Tony would have dinner with you one hour and be phoning you to practice his Spanish since he was flying off to Equatorial Guinea the next. 

"The hyper girl with glasses who quotes memes a lot?" Well, that was one way of describing Darcy. 

"She just got a new job and is working long hours all week." It was very convenient and probably sounded like a lie too, but it wasn’t. He was pretty happy that it wasn’t a lie honestly, he really didn’t need Darcy to yell at him.

"The guy who seems way too young to be you friend and rambles about spiders a lot?" That was worrying considering Peter had only been over to his apartment three times and Bucky knew who he was. He hoped Bucky didn’t keep tabs on him and his friends, but he probably did.

"Dude, he's Tony's nephew," Steve pointed out as if Bucky knew that already, "And it's exam season in his college." That Bucky could verify. Well, he could probably verify any of them considering his line of work, but that he could do legally. 

"The girl who’s occasionally with your not-boyfriend?" That was slightly less specific which gave Steve hope about not being spied on by his criminal neighbor. He probably was, but he assumed it was all his neighbors or just the apartment block. 

"Sam's fiancé, also in Utah." It really did sound awfully convenient. 

"Okay, so the blonde lady who seems like she could slit your throat with her stapler if you mess up?" He couldn't lie, Pepper did give off that vibe sometimes. It was the only reason that Tony ever actually did any work.

"In the Bahamas with Tony," Steve paused, "Can you actually do that?" Bucky seemed to be the right person to ask. 

"Maybe? I've never attempted it myself, but I know a guy who managed it with a hole punch." Steve really wished he hadn't visualized that. "What about that blonde girl who seems to hates you a lot?”

It was good to know that other people were aware of how much Sharon hated him, she wasn’t as subtle as she thought she was. 

"I'm not asking my ex-girlfriend," he stated plainly, refusing to budge from his stance, "Even if we were on good enough terms, which we're not, I'm not willingly spending a week with her and her little comments about the lack of commitment that bisexuality apparently brings about." 

Okay, Steve was bitter about it. 

"She sounds like a joy," Bucky remarked, that familiar smirk returning to his face before it was replaced quickly by a concerned look, "Do you have any other friends or family who can help?" Bucky was seriously overestimating the number of friends that Steve actually had. 

"Well Peggy and Angie live in London, my Mom currently lives in Colorado and I have no friends or family so no." Steve felt like it was bad that he spoke regularly to a total of ten people that only increased to thirteen if you counted Bucky, Mrs. Hanson, and Wanda. 

He sometimes talked to Maria's Dad as well and Peter's Aunt May was nice. She baked him cakes once and they talked about how underrated Joachim Patenier was. That made fifteen. 

"Seriously? No one?" Steve nodded, suddenly defensive of the fifteen people who talked to, it wasn't _that_ small. "Okay, I'm going to drop by two times a day to make sure you don't die and actually take your antibiotics, okay?" 

This felt oddly nice and neighborly. Was this normal etiquette for neighbors? Bucky wasn't exactly the 'normal' neighbor, but still. Steve didn't know what to say. 

"Thanks?" Steve mumbled, too tired to protest. He was sure that if he was in his normal state of mind and not ill, he'd put up a pointless fight since Bucky had proven that he could, in fact, get into Steve's apartment any time he wanted to. 

Fuck, Bucky could get into his apartment any time he wanted to. 

"It's nothing, I can't really leave you to potentially die when I owe you a lot," Bucky shrugged, walking out from behind the counter, "I left the stuff in the kitchen. Make sure you take them every day.” It was odd to be lectured by a criminal about taking medication, especially when they were your neighbor and occasionally flirted with you somewhat. Steve still couldn’t tell if it was flirting or just some playful banter that Bucky did with everyone. He didn’t know which he preferred either.

Steve just smiled tightly and promised to take it, bidding Bucky goodbye. He was seriously spending too much time with his criminal neighbor, it was even worse that he was enjoying that time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i took some liberties with the whole scarlet fever thing, not much, but a little


	5. What Not to do When Your Friend Finds Out You had Scarlet Fever and Your Other Friend Announces a Surprise Gala

“And what are you doing out of your apartment at this time young man?” Steve jumped at the sound of Mrs. Hanson’s voice, nearly knocking his recently collected post out of his hand.

He’d decided that it would be a good idea to collect his post himself today since Sam was arriving and could probably twig on to someone else collecting his post or it not being collected and somehow miraculously figure out Steve was ill without telling him. It was a longshot, but he wasn’t risking it.

Mrs. Hanson was standing leaning on her doorway, wrapped in a fluffy pink dressing gown with golden slippers. She had dark skin and her hair was pulled into a tight bun at the base of her neck. If Steve didn’t know her and didn’t know just how nice she was, he’d probably be slightly scared of her. He definitely was when he first moved in, but she’d been the most welcoming. She’d been a lot more welcoming than Bucky, telling Steve that his neighbor was an odd one, but he was worth all his odd quirks.

Steve wasn’t so sure after recent revelations.

“Just collecting my post, ma’am,” Steve stuttered nervously, her dark eyes boring into his. Sometimes, it felt like everyone could see right through him.

“Is that all, Steven?” He cringed at the use of his full name, only his Mom used, and Sam when he was angry at Steve. Sometimes he forgot that Mrs. Hanson and his Mom were the same age, their opinions were mostly the same, but their approaches were completely different. While his Mom was gentle, cautious and avoidant, Mrs. Hanson was headstrong and outspoken. He had to admire her for it. And he definitely needed to introduce the two.

“Yes, ma’am.” In his panic, he saluted her which she snorted at, lifting an eyebrow at him. Yep, she could see right through him.

“Are you now?” she questioned, her lips tightly pressed together, “Are you certain you’re not hanging around to see if a certain brunet arrives?” she pressed further, narrowing her eyes at him who shifted his weight awkwardly. He’d forgotten that quite a few of their neighbors were certain that he and Bucky were dating, or at least fucking. It seemed to be a common trend, an annoying trend.

Mostly because he couldn’t tell if he wanted it to be true or not. On one hand, Bucky was unbelievably attractive and was exactly Steve’s type. He was almost certain that Bucky was probably a great fuck and he’d love to brag about it to Sharon. He pretended he was above it, he wasn’t. He also wanted to do all the rest with Bucky, go on stupid dates to hipster coffee shops and art museums and spend lazy days lounging around watching sappy movies. He could imagine the first kiss, the first date, all of it.

On the other hand, Bucky was a criminal who had gotten shot at least once since Steve knew him and would be unbelievably dangerous to date. He just wished his heart (and dick) would acknowledge it. 

It was also positively terrifying that he was having these dreams and fantasies about it. His heart rate picked up at the thought of it and he couldn’t even tell which emotion was causing it.

“Certainly ma’am, I think we all know Bucky has an odd schedule, I doubt he’d even be around at this time with it being a reasonable time and all.” He was babbling, spurting a lot of word vomit. Panic was setting in again, he really didn’t want another acquaintance thinking they were dating. Apart from it being incorrect, he also had a slight inkling that rumors about someone dating a criminal might not be the safest rumors. 

“He’s Bucky, is he? And here I thought his name was James.” Oh, he hadn’t realized others knew him by his actual name, he thought everyone called him Bucky. Bucky had told him it was his preferred name. “It’s okay hon’, you are allowed to be with him in this day and age. Those crazy politicians finally got their heads screwed on right and realized that love is love. I’ve been saying it for decades, but no one ever seemed to be listening. I’ve been wondering how long it would take for you two numskulls to realize it yourself.” 

“I appreciate the support Mrs. Hanson, but Bucky and I aren’t dating,” he explained awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck in anticipation. It seemed to be his catchphrase nowadays.

“Nonsense! You don’t sit outside your apartment at two am chatting with a man who’s only your neighbor!” she exclaimed, pointing determinedly at him, “Trust me, young man, I may be out of the loop with you millennials and your ‘memes’, but I know flirting when I see it. I was young too once!” It was very odd hearing an elderly lady say the word ‘meme’. He had to suppress the urge to respond with one.

“I’d actually left my keys in my friend’s apartment and he was flying out to some fancy country and couldn’t let me in to get them. Bucky picked my lock for me so I wouldn’t have to wait for Wanda to arrive in the morning,” he stammered, feeling pretty embarrassed by the situation. Not many people could get themselves in that situation. 

“And the two of you just stopped for neighborly chatter?” she inquired, one side of her mouth quirking up. At least someone was amused in this conversation and not horrendously uncomfortable like Steve was. You’d think he’d be used to it considering how often he’d denied it, but it still made him just as awkward and blush just as bright. 

“I guess so,” he affirmed, biting his lip nervously. Why was everyone able to see right through him?

“I see,” she murmured, a wicked smile playing at her mouth, “And the numerous check-ups this week? He’s been collecting your post and visiting you at least twice a day for the past few days. Is that just more neighborly chatter?” Jesus, the lady was relentless. Everyone seemed set on proving the two were dating, they weren’t. They really really weren’t.

“No ma’am, he was just being a good Samaritan,” he stuttered, trying to find a way to describe it that didn’t make it seem like Bucky was being a good boyfriend, “He was just checking up on me because I came down with scarlet fever,” he confessed, scratching the back of his neck again. It was slightly unbelievable since only a small proportion of adults could even catch scarlet fever since the human body was _supposed_ to develop natural immunity to it. 

Apparently, Steve’s body didn’t get the memo. 

“Oh, did you now?” Steve jumped, again, at the sound of a third voice, the shock turning into dread when he saw Sam walking towards him with purpose and a particularly sour expression on his face. Fuck, he’d forgotten that Sam was visiting.

“Sam, hey,” he stammered, waving awkwardly. It was a pathetic excuse for a greeting, but he wasn’t really focussing on that, rather on the scolding he was about to get from his friend. Sometimes Sam acted more of a parent than a friend. It wasn’t that Steve didn’t appreciate it, he just preferred to be told off by a parent and very minimal times since he grown adult.

“Don’t hey me!” Sam protested, his brow furrowed, “You come down with scarlet fever and just decide not to tell any of us?” he questioned with a scowl, staring expectantly at Steve. He had a very good point. 

“No?” he tried, the response not lightening Sam’s expression one bit, “Yes?” Neither seemed to appease him. Well, at least he tried, sort of.

“You’re an ass, you know that? You promised to tell us when you got majorly ill so we could make sure you didn’t nearly die again!” Sam exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air dramatically again, “Hi Mrs. Hanson,” he added once he’d calmed down, smiling at his neighbor who returned it graciously, almost as if they were in cahoots. 

“Hello to you too Mr. Wilson,” she smiled fully, her eyes twinkling, “Don’t be too angry at Steven here, he did allow his neighbor to come over and care for him from what he’s been telling me.” She gestured to Steve who ducked her gaze and ducked Sam’s gaze as well. They were definitely in cahoots.

“Don’t trust him, ma’am, he’s a liar,” Sam warned jokingly, with a pointed stare at Steve telling him that it wasn’t a complete joke. Damn his friends for being good friends and for being overprotective to the absolute max.

“I’m sure he can’t be that bad of an egg, being a true patriot and all,” she marveled, her grin turning into a smirk. Not again with the Fourth of July and all, he thought he’d heard the worst of it when Tony had decided his nickname would officially be Captain America. 

“Nah, he’s a good kid, just a little bit stubborn,” Sam grinned, leaning over to ruffle Steve’s hair which landed him with a dark glare, “What’s this about your neighbor caring for you Stevie? Are you sure you’re not secretly dating?” Sam inquired, arching one eyebrow towards him. Damn you, Mrs. Hanson. It really wasn’t helping with the ‘not-dating-him’ case.

“You finally realized I was here and could hear you?” Steve grumbled, scowling, “Wanda mentioned I hadn’t collected the post in a while so he brought it up for me and recognized it was scarlet fever and insisted on me getting antibiotics for it,” Steve explained, running his hands through his hair in frustration.

“Oh what an unreasonable thing to ask of someone?” Sam proclaimed very dramatically, his voice dripping with sarcasm. His face was plain, but Steve could see the slight anger in his eyes. His friends really liked caring for him when he was ill apparently.

“The human body recovers naturally from scarlet fever,” Steve pointed out stubbornly, a small frown planted on his face.

“Antibiotics help the human body to recover quicker,” Sam fired back, raising both eyebrows at Steve who just scowled in response, “You know you can come to any of us if you can’t afford the medication, right Steve?” Sam’s voice was a lot gentler as he asked, his eyes softening. He was probably waiting for Steve to explode back to him. Steve’s heart basically jumped into his throat again, speeding up unnaturally as he tried to find a way to turn it down politely.

“I know,” he muttered, still refusing to actually go to any of his friends if he needed money for his healthcare. He appreciated the offer, but the day he accepted is the day he’s on his deathbed. He was naturally stubborn, it was a trait of the Rogers family. They worked for their own money and only used their own money, it felt wrong to accept financial help even when he needed it. His Mother was the exact same. 

“Even me Steven,” Mrs. Hanson added kindly, thoroughly shocking Steve who turned to look at her. He was waiting for her to say ‘psyche’, or whatever her generation’s version of it was, but she just continued to smile. He really wasn’t expecting that. He felt the blush rising even more in his cheeks and his heart speeding up again as the two looked at him pointedly. 

“Oh wow, thanks.” The words stumbled out of his mouth, but the sentiment was there. “Anyway, how was the trip, any news on the wedding plans?” he asked, trying to hide the fact that he was diverting the conversation on purpose so they’d stopped focussing on him and he could maybe lower the redness in his cheeks and slow the beating of his heart a little. 

“Maria’s Mother is a literal nightmare, she’s the definition of white privilege,” Sam spat almost, his eyes bitter, “But she’s willing to attend the wedding and maybe try to reconcile with Maria.” He seemed to have calmed down, taking a deep breath after his statement. Steve couldn’t wait to meet the woman after that reaction, note the sarcasm. 

“She sounds an awful lot like some of the girls I grew up with,” Mrs. Hanson remarked with a sour type of glee, her eyes not quite lighting up with the memory. Steve couldn’t imagine what the racists must have been like back then when it was more socially accepted to be an outright racist than a closet racist even if it hadn’t changed that much from then to now. 

“She’s a closet racist at the very least,” Sam muttered darkly, probably remembering the woman a little too vividly, “And very insistent on a traditional wedding which fits just perfectly now that Maria’s decided that she doesn’t want to do the giving away thing and might not want to even walk down the aisle,” Sam added with a sigh, his eyes turning tired at the thought. It was definitely a paradox. 

“Oh?” Steve inquired, arching a brow. He knew the normal reasons for not wanting it and the special cases one of not having someone to give them away, but Maria had Nick and Steve wasn’t sure how much of a feminist Maria was. 

“Yeah. You know how marriage was originally constructed so a man owned a woman and everything she owed to encourage monogamy and hence, encourage the survival of capitalism and all that jazz and Maria completely hates that we didn’t really change anything since then. And I kinda hate it too and it’s ridiculous to even pretend that I could own Maria. Like it’s a relationship and I love her for being her independent and strong self, you know? So we both decided that giving away is useless and the aisle walk is kinda for that so we’re thinking of vetoing that too,” Sam explained, shifting his weight to the other foot under the watching eye of Mrs. Hanson. They were both wondering how she was going to respond. 

“There’s a good reason I never married my Jack,” she grinned with slightly pursed lips, “Other than my hatred for his Father. I refused to share the name with such a horrid man, but both of our families insisted on traditional weddings with everything surrounding it so we just didn’t get married and it never made us any less of a couple than any of the married couples around us. We were probably even better because we knew that we could just split up easily if it ever stopped working so we didn’t pressure ourselves to make everything perfect, we just loved each other. ” Mrs. Hanson was actually a really cool lady and Steve was unbelievably glad to be her neighbor. She was smiling fondly now at the memory, her eyes twinkling softly. 

“You should really sell your story as a screenplay, you could make a small fortune,” Steve suggested, finding her smile too contagious to ignore. He would gladly admit that he enjoyed hearing about Mrs. Hanson’s late partner and the hijinks that the two got up to. She wasn’t as innocent as everyone seemed to believe, even if she baked some mean cookies. Her gingerbread people (she refused to put the gender binary on gingerbread which Steve had no problem with) were to die for.

“Yeah, eat your heart out Nicholas Sparks with your newest version of straight white people nearly kissing,” Sam added with a smirk, a wicked glint in his dark eyes. Steve liked where this conversation was heading, he _really_ liked it, but he felt like they might need to get back to Sam’s wedding problems at some point. 

“Best not, I prefer for the memories to be mine and mine only,” she smiled sadly in response, leaning heavily on her doorway, the atmosphere around them suddenly heavy.

“Is Nick okay with the not giving away thing?” Steve asked, diverting the conversation again to try and reduce the heaviness around them. He was also genuinely curious, he knew Maria’s Father was rather terrifying, but he also knew he was a reasonable man and a good parent. His reaction would be interesting at least.

“He’s all for it,” Sam responded, shock set in his voice as if he still didn’t quite believe it himself, “Anything that makes Maria happy, I guess?” Sam offered, sounding unsure. 

“So how are you going to do the wedding then?” Steve inquired further, getting more and more curious. It sounded like it might not be as boring of a wedding as most of them were. He loved his friends, but weddings were almost always ceaselessly long and needlessly tedious. He wasn’t exactly a fan of them apart from Thor and Jane’s wedding, but that was because they went the full way with a very traditional Viking wedding as a testimony of Thor’s Norse background and that made the whole ordeal very entertaining and the huge amount of alcohol helped with it being a lot longer than normal weddings. 

“We’re not sure, we were thinking of flipping it with me walking down the aisle, but it defeats the purpose of avoiding the ownership problem,” Sam paused, biting his lip unsure, “Maybe arranging the seating so there isn’t an aisle and just walking from opposite sides to the middle or something, I don’t know.” Sam sighed again, his face scrunching up, he was clearly struggling with it. Steve had no idea what to suggest.

“Well, my only advice is to go with whatever makes the two of you the happiest because in the end, you’re the only ones who matter. Don’t let your parents influence you too much even if you are trying to piss them off, which I do recommend with what I’ve heard of your future mother in law,” Mrs. Hanson offered, creasing her hands together and relaxing her posture with a kind smile. Steve was definitely glad to have her for a neighbor.

“Thanks, Mrs. Hanson,” Sam murmured, his worried stance relaxing slightly, “I didn’t realize how stressful weddings were,” he added with a small chuckle that sounded a little too strangled to be light-hearted and joking. 

“The most important part is those who are getting married, who gives a fuck about everyone else?” she declared, her smile growing into a smirk, “And I expect an invitation young man, I’d love to meet this Maria and I have some choice words for her Mother.” Steve really loved his neighbor. 

“Of course ma’am, I can’t wait to have you,” Sam grinned, his nose scrunching up in happiness instead of worry which was a triumph to Steve, “Oh and Steve, we finally set a date for the fundraiser if you’re still okay with doing the face-painting?” 

“Definitely still okay with it,” Steve confirmed, his own smile growing again, “As long as either you or Tony is first in line, of course."

•••

“So how does it look?” Darcy questioned, stepping out of the changing room and twirling around in a new dress for the seventh time that hour. She insisted that it would be like an eighties montage, but it was agonizingly boring instead. Steve literally had no idea on clothes, colors he could do, clothes was a straight no.

“I don’t know Darcy, just because I’m queer does not mean I’m good at fashion,” he grumbled, before taking in what she actually looked like. It was a nice dress and she did look beautiful in it. It was a long, dark green dress with what he assumed was a velvet decoration at her waist that pinched in and was twisted into a rose-like shape. It had a sweetheart neckline (maybe) and capped sleeves. It was simple and didn’t puff out much, trailing behind her instead. “You look pretty?” he offered, not really knowing if it suited her or not or whatever else beauty gurus said. She did look pretty in it, though.

“I do like it,” she murmured, biting her lip and looking down at it, maybe to admire it more, “It’s comfortable and it’s not too much of a hassle to walk in. I probably won’t have to wear too high heels either and it makes my boobs look great, right?” Why did she have to ask him? It was a stupid question to be embarrassed by, but Steve still blushed bright red at it. 

“Sure? I don’t know Darce, I don’t tend to look at my friend’s breasts that often,” he stated as plainly as he could, trying to reduce the blush in his cheeks. Damn Tony for announcing a surprise charity gala, insisting all his friends go and suggesting Darcy take Steve shopping so they could both get suitable attire for the night. Steve hated Tony’s galas so much, they were filled with posh people who literally got offended that they had to share the same air as a starving artist. Steve always felt like screaming at them, or at least telling them to suck it up because it was about the kids who needed schools built and not them and their new holiday house worth more than Steve’s childhood home.

“Only your hot neighbor’s then?” Darcy waggled her eyebrows at him before twirling around in her dress one more time, “I think this is the one.” She decided, her lips pressed together firmly. 

“Not you as well,” Steve mumbled, holding his face in his hands. Why did everyone think he was fucking his neighbor? 

“Oh shush Steven, everyone stares at his breasts, the guy is like the lovechild of a Greek God came to life and a sexy vampire,” Darcy pointed out, rolling her eyes teasingly at Steve, “Speaking of sexy people, who are you bringing as your date to the gala thing?” she asked, raising her eyebrows and probably trying to suggest he take Bucky which he was not going to do. That was just a bad idea.

Best case scenario, he spends the night awkwardly flirting with Bucky and they continue to be in the weird territory between dating and neighbors. Worst case scenario, the gala gets shot up by gunmen. It was just a bad idea, even if Steve’s heart jumped at the idea of going as Bucky’s date to a gala. He really needed to get a hold on his growing crush.

“I don’t know, can’t I just go with you or something?” Steve groaned, sighing at the thought of having to actually ask someone to go with him to Tony’s stupid gala as his date. He really hated them and he knew that no one wanted to be the data of the tiny, skinny kid who looks like he’s still waiting for puberty to arrive. He was aware of it, but it didn’t hurt any less each time he was reminded of it.

“I already promised that cute guy Ian from work that I’d take him. He’s a massive fan of Tony’s and offered to bring me Starbucks every day for a month if I took him,” Darcy explained, essentially apologizing with her little frown, “I managed to convince him to do it for two months as well,” she added, beaming from her mischief. He didn’t blame her, even if Starbucks was unbelievably overpriced. 

“Damn,” he muttered, trying to think of someone else to invite. That was the main problem with having fifteen acquaintances and friends. At least he always had his last resort of inviting Mrs. Hanson, he might enjoy the night that way. 

“Well, Maria and Sam are going together clearly, as are Tony and Pepper. Thor and Jane are probably going so you might be able to go with Thor’s little broth-” Darcy stopped after seeing Steve’s face fall entirely at the idea of going with Loki who was just too sarcastic and radical for even Steve, “Well never mind. I wouldn’t have recommended it anyway since I’m fairly certain Tony has a thing for him. Peter will have a date although we don’t know who. He’s stuck between Mary Jane who he’s had a crush on for like seventeen years and Gwen who I think just wants to go because of meeting Tony since he’s a science genius and all. Peggy and Angie might be flying over for it and for Sam’s thing, but they’ll be going together clearly. Sharon will be going, but I doubt you’d want to go with her.”

It looked like he might just be inviting Mrs. Hanson after all.

“I know Tony’s inviting his old friend from college, some redhead, but I’m assuming she has a date and it would be an odd arrangement,” Darcy murmured, struggling to think of someone else, “I guess maybe you could go with Gwen? Peter can take Mary Jane and they can go and bond and stuff and you can take Gwen so she can spend the night with them and meet Tony and you can just dance with her once or twice and hang out with me and Ian for the night?” Darcy suggested, her face scrunching up. It was a decent idea, he had to give it to her. 

“That sounds like a good idea,” Steve commented, nodding along. He’d be happy to take Gwen, he’d met her once and she seemed bearable, nice even. She was definitely intelligent and opinionated which was everything Steve looked for in a person and he didn’t mind helping out Peter. 

It was a little weird that they all saw Peter as this little kid when he was only a few years younger than them. It was him being Tony’s nephew that did it, despite that just being a product of Peter’s great grandparents adopting Howard Stark as a baby once their own children had grown up. 

“Great!” she beamed, enthusiastically high-fiving him, “I’m going to get changed and pay for this and then we’re going to find you the best suit ev-er!” she cheered, doing her best Michael Jackson impression and basically running back into the changing room while Steve groaned, more shopping. He hated shopping almost as much as he hated galas and he was doing both of them in the same forty-eight hours, great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im kinda imagining mrs. hanson a bit like the lady from deadpool who he shares the apartment with honestly (im terrible with names)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading :)


End file.
